King under the Mountain
by Hot elf
Summary: Further adventures of Thorin Oakenshield in Thedas - a sequel to "Keeping You Warm". Thorin has settled in nicely at Vigil's Keep, but Commander Cousland finds herself in need of a Warden ambassador to send to the dwarven city of Orzammar. Cover art by the amazing yanagoya.
1. Patrol Duty

**Chapter 1 - Patrol Duty**

A sharp rap on the door tore Thorin from his slumber.

"Thorin. Wake up. We leave at dawn." Nathaniel's hoarse voice was unmistakable.

With a deep sigh, Thorin buried his face in Sigrun's tousled hair for a moment, breathing in her scent and savouring her warmth. She was utterly relaxed, heavy and almost boneless and he enjoyed her familiar weight settled across his chest. When he kissed her, her face scrunched up and she muttered something incomprehensible in her sleep, but her eyes remained firmly shut.

It was only when he gently pushed her aside and sat up that she blinked at him. "Thorin. Do you have to get up already?" A tiny smile played around her lips and she stretched, wiggling her full hips a little more than was strictly necessary. "Sure we don't have time for a little cuddling?"

"Cuddling, eh?" He felt sore and tired, but he could feel a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

She was way too adorable for him to stay grumpy for long. When she had shown up at his door last night with a jug of ale, wearing nothing at all under her furred cape, and proclaiming that he needed a proper send-off, he had been more than eager to take her up on her proposal. It was tempting to crawl back into bed with her, kiss those perky little breasts, feel her shiver and writhe under his caresses.

Yet, Nathaniel wasn't exactly known for being patient, and the archer would be in command of their patrol. Some part of Thorin was actually looking forward to being down in the Deep Roads. Fighting darkspawn was messy work, but satisfying, and he was dwarf enough to feel right at home in the tunnels deep under the mountains. The stone sang to him, enveloping him safely, and the fine handiwork of the stonemasons who had crafted the pillars and passageways made him think of home, the splendours of Khazad-dum and Erebor, the work of his ancestors.

Thorin reached for the chest piece of his armour, running his hands appreciatively over the dark grey material, admiring its faint reddish gleam. _Dragonbone_, Wade had called it, and it was as fine a set as any he had ever owned, light and supple, yet strong enough to deflect almost any blade.

He was about to put his gambeson on, when Sigrun came up behind him, wrapping her naked body around him. Her nimble hands danced down his chest, tugging gently on the dark curls there before travelling further down.

He caught her wrist before she could take hold of him, though, growling back over his shoulder. "There's no time. You heard Nate."

With an exaggerated sigh Sigrun lay back, letting her hands trail down her naked body, arching up slightly when she reached the junction of her thighs. "Ah, such a pity. It's a good thing _I_ can sleep in at last. Though I might have to... relax a little first."

Her hand slid between her legs and she moaned softly. Thorin hovered at the edge of the bed, unable to take his eyes off her, when another sharp knock on the door tore him from his reverie.

"Thorin. Get going! Or you won't have time for breakfast." Carver's voice this time, with a decidedly amused undertone. Of course they all knew Sigrun was there. Their relationship was hardly a secret.

Biting back a curse, he got up and pulled on the padded vest, throwing her a dark look. "Just you wait until I get back!"

Sigrun smiled up at him beatifically, pinching her own nipple hard. "Looking forward to my punishment."

He groaned, but managed to tear himself away and quickly got ready for patrol duty. Before he left, he kissed her, quick and hard, doing his best to ignore the flush of arousal spreading over her pale skin. She gave him another cheeky grin, but as he turned to go, she took hold of his hand and made him look at her.

"Thorin. Be careful." Her bright blue eyes were full of love.

"I will." As the door fell shut behind him, he smiled to himself.

Sometimes he still couldn't believe his luck. It was hard to grasp what strange twist of fate had brought him here, to Thedas, to Sigrun's loving arms. He had been so sure his life was over, so ready to leave it all behind, once he knew the battle was won and the goblins were defeated. But Gandalf had had other plans. He spared a thought for the old wizard, wondering what he was up to these days. And all the others. Was the hobbit still alive, had he got back safely to his beloved Shire? Beorn, Bard, how were they faring? He would never know. His old life seemed like a dream now, impossibly far away, further than he had ever thought he'd venture. And yet it had been only three or four months since he'd come here.

Now he was a Grey Warden, his life devoted to slaying darkspawn and protecting his new home from the threat of a blight. He was no longer a king, no longer surrounded by his trusted company of dwarves, no longer devoted to a single goal. The Wardens had become his new family. Nathaniel, Carver, Oghren, Justice, Anders, even proud Velanna, the elven mage. He took orders from a human, a woman at that, yet there was no doubt that Megan Cousland was worthy of his allegiance. And he'd given his heart to Sigrun, his sweet, sassy, wonderful and impossible lover, so different from the dwarven women he'd known in his earlier life.

Nathaniel and the others were in the hall, grabbing a quick breakfast from a generously loaded tray placed on the big oaken table. Carver smiled at him over his sausage and roll, while Velanna gave him a cool nod. Nathaniel was all business, as usual, going over their route once more with Megan. The Commander wore a thin house-robe, and her hair was tousled from sleep, but her eyes were clear and her voice sharp as she pointed out several points on the map she wanted them to check out.

Once she was satisfied, she got up on her toes to place a kiss on Nathaniel's cheek. "Take care out there. I wish I could go with you, but there's so much official business waiting for me. I just hope-"

Nathaniel put an affectionate hand on her shoulder. "We'll be fine, Meg. It's just a patrol."

"Of course you will." She smiled at him, their eyes locking for a moment before she turned to Carver and ruffled his hair tenderly, kissing him, too and grinning at his blush. "Show the darkspawn what a Warden can do."

* * *

Thorin had snatched a look at the map while Nathaniel was discussing their route with Megan, and knew it was more than a day's march to the Deep Roads entrance they were headed for. It was a pleasant journey as those things went, through forests clad in the warm colours of autumn, past fallow fields and orchards full of ripe apples and pears. The Arling of Amaranthine was a prosperous country, now that it was recovering from the Blight.

They made camp in the early evening, in a quiet little copse they had used several times before. Nathaniel quickly set about cleaning out the fire pit, while Carver went looking for water and firewood. Thorin busied himself with setting up their two small tents, while Velanna went off in search of food. When she returned, carrying two squirrels strung up by their hind legs, the Elven mage threw him a haughty glare, proceeding to the campfire to talk to Nathaniel.

Thorin didn't mind. He was used to being mostly ignored by her. The elves of this world might not be as regal and impressive as Thranduil and his people, but they easily equalled the King of Mirkwood in arrogance. Or at least Velanna did. For a moment he almost smiled as he imagined the two of them meeting up. _They would have made a perfect couple._ Then Velanna's shrill tones reached his ears and he made a face.

"I hope you're not suggesting I share a tent with either of you, Nathaniel. I'd rather sleep under the stars." Thorin flinched at the icy contempt in her gaze, but Nathaniel just laughed.

"Still with the deadly looks, my lady?" The archer pointed to the smaller tent. "Don't worry, this one is all yours. The three of us can share the other one if we take turns keeping watch."

"I told you not to call me that," Velanna hissed. "But very well. I will take first watch while you are still awake."

For all her snappishness, the elf was as good as her word. After she had taken a few bites of their supper, she disappeared into the night to make sure they were safe. A task she was probably better equipped for than any of them, knowing those woods as she did. The men settled around the fire, discussing the upcoming mission until she came back and slunk off into her tent without so much as a glance at them.

Carver got up with a sigh. "I'll go next. You two better catch some sleep."

"I'm not tired. I might just wait up for you." Nathaniel gave him a cheeky grin that made Carver blush and Thorin shift uncomfortably.

Relationships in this world were handled a lot less formally than he was used to, and while he certainly appreciated Sigrun's favours, the... arrangement that had developed between Megan, Carver and Nathaniel still wasn't something he could quite approve of.

"What about you, Thorin? Tired?" Nathaniel leaned back with a satisfied sigh. "Or do you have time to tell me more about your past?"

Thorin shrugged. "If you like." Nathaniel was utterly fascinated by his tales of home, always hungry for more. He seemed to revel in the heroic tales of Durin's folk, his eyes lighting up at the retelling of the great battles of Mount Gundabad or Azanulbizar. Thorin was careful not to exaggerate his own role in those struggles, but Nathaniel was experienced enough to read between the lines as he described those past events.

"It can't be easy for you, taking orders from me and Megan. You are used to being a leader, a king." The archer's clear grey eyes were far too keen, Thorin thought.

He took his time answering, knowing Nathaniel wouldn't be satisfied with platitudes. "It is not easy." Instinctively he sat up straight and fixed the other man with his gaze. "I would be lying if I said that. Yet..." He took a deep breath. "This is not my world and I have no claim to lead here. I respect you and the Commander and I am grateful for all you have done for me. So, for the time being, I shall be content to follow you."

"For the time being, eh?" Nathaniel's lips curved upward in a small smile, but he seemed willing to let the topic rest.

They chatted for a while longer until Carver returned. Nathaniel greeted him with a smile, getting to his feet in a fluid motion and placing a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Carver. Come."

Thorin watched them disappear into the tent and set out to keep watch. When he came back a few hours later, more than ready for some rest, the two of them were fast asleep, locked in a tight embrace. He touched Nathaniel's shoulder to wake him, and the archer rose with a yawn, breathing a kiss against Carver's forehead before sneaking off into the darkness. Thorin wrinkled his nose at the odour of sex pervading the tent, but then curled up in his own bedroll with a resigned sigh. He was far too tired to be picky about their sleeping arrangements.

* * *

They entered the Deep Roads around noon the next day, through a gently sloping tunnel and a seemingly endless flight of stairs. Thorin breathed in the warm, dry air with relish. This time when they set up camp, there was no need to bother with tents. They settled down early, eager to catch up on some sleep.

Yet it was not to be. One by one they bolted upright, screams of horror dying on their lips as the vision of this shared dream branded itself upon their inner eyes. They all knew it for what it was, even Thorin who had only seen it once. An abomination, a ghoulish nightmare, all sagging breasts and pasty skin and evil red eyes.

_A broodmother._

* * *

_And here we go... I hope you all enjoy Thorin's new adventures. Huge hugs and thanks to heretherebdragons who has kindly agreed to beta this for me. I know the story will be a lot better with her help.  
_


	2. Taking Command

**Chapter 2: Taking Command**

Thorin and the others tried to go back to sleep after their nightmarish vision, but one by one they gave up the attempt. There was no way they could banish the image of the broodmother from their minds, no way to find their way back to more pleasant dreams. It was fortunate they were all used to living on a bare minimum of sleep. Rubbing their weary eyes, they shared a mug of tea and a few hard biscuits, and prepared to break camp. Carver seemed most upset, and Nathaniel took a few minutes to talk quietly to him in a corner, his arm wrapped protectively around the younger man's shoulder. When he returned he seemed withdrawn, his patrician face wearing a forbidding expression.

Yet Thorin approached him, eager for more information. "What was this about, Nathaniel? Why did we all see the monster? Is it close?"

The archer sighed. "There's no way of knowing. It might be just a fluke, maybe some echo from the past or foreshadowing of a future event. Then again Carver thinks... Of course it's hard to tell with those things, but he said the broodmother looked familiar. Remember your first patrol? He showed me the spot where you were resting when you first saw her, and we're not all that far from it. See?" He pulled out a map and pointed out their location in the tunnels, then indicated a second spot.

Thorin rubbed his bearded chin in deliberation. "So what do we do? Do we go looking for the broodmother?"

Before Nathaniel could answer, Velanna stepped closer, a sneer on her lips. "Of course not. We should go back, make a report, and then maybe return with a larger force."

Nathaniel's lips thinned and a frown appeared on his forehead. "That is not your decision to make, Velanna. I say we explore a little further first. As I said, it may well be just a coincidence."

Velanna stared at him for a few heartbeats, then exhaled with an audible huff. "Four Wardens dreaming about a broodmother, the second time in a row, and you tell me it could be a coincidence! You're delusional, Howe."

Nathaniel raised himself to his full height, resting a hand on his dagger. "Enough! Are you trying to pick a fight?"

The elf opened her mouth as if to say something, but then she shrugged. "Suit yourself. I've long ceased to expect reasonable behaviour from human men. Or dwarves for that matter."

Thorin followed her with his gaze as she made her way to her pack, pulling on her gloves and gathering her staff. Her movements were jerky, betraying her annoyance. _Elves. Always too arrogant for their own good._

Nathaniel smiled at him. "What about you Thorin? Are you worried that this might prove too dangerous?"

Thorin raised his chin. "I'm not afraid. I haven't fought this kind of beast before, though. I imagine they aren't easy to kill."

"No. They aren't." Nathaniel's face was sober now. "Come on. Walk with me a bit and I will tell you what to watch out for if we should indeed come face to face with a broodmother."

* * *

The further down they followed the tunnels, the more obvious it became that they were headed toward a larger accumulation of darkspawn. At first they only met small scouting groups of genlocks, easy to dispatch, but when the first emissaries showed up, Velanna threw Nathaniel a glance that spelled _I told you so_ loud and clear. Yet the archer showed no sign of changing his mind, continuing on with a look of single-minded determination.

As the tunnels got darker and the air more oppressive, Thorin turned to Carver, who had kept out of the discussion so far. "What do you think? Is Nathaniel leading us into danger?"

Carver snorted, kicking a small boulder out of the way. "Of course he is. That's what being a Warden is all about, isn't it?" His eyes rested for a moment on Nathaniel's broad back. "Still, Nate knows how much we can handle and he takes his responsibilities seriously. He won't take any unnecessary risks just to impress the elf, don't worry."

Thorin was about to answer when Nathaniel gave a warning shout. More darkspawn attacked them, several hardy genlock alphas and even a few hurlocks among them. Thorin managed to save Carver from certain death by neatly beheading a genlock rogue with his axe as it was about to sink its daggers into the small of the younger man's back. Even in the heat of the fight, this earned him a grateful smile from Nathaniel.

As they stood victorious once more, the archer laughed giddily, his head thrown back in abandonment, his blood-spattered daggers raised up high. Thorin couldn't blame him. He himself felt the battle lust rise within him as he hadn't in a very long time. This, at last, was a fight worthy of his abilities! They pressed on, eager for more blood, for another chance to prove their mettle against the vile creatures of the dark.

Thorin couldn't have said how many hours had passed, how many more foes they had slain, when the passageway finally widened before them. A curious substance coated the floor, smelly and slimy, and with the unmistakable evil feel of the darkspawn taint.

"Creators! The broodmother must be close!" Velanna had turned pale.

Gesturing for her to stay close to him, Nathaniel grabbed his bow and carefully rounded the next corner. Carver followed, his sword raised, and Thorin brought up the rear, afraid of what he knew was coming.

It was worse than he had imagined. A lot worse. The stench, for one thing. And the giant, griping tentacles, snaking up from the slimy mass on the floor, moving in a ghastly parody of a dance. But the most horrible sight was the face, the distorted grimace staring at him from above layers of sickly pale flesh, because somewhere behind those deformed features he could still divine a shadow of the features of a dwarven woman. A woman who had been forced to undergo this transformation, infected by the taint, fed the flesh of her companions, forced to birth legions of genlocks. It made him want to throw up.

But there was no time, for even as he readied his axe, a shrill, haunting scream sounded from the side walls of the cavern, stunning him into immobility. It was all he could do to defend himself when the grinning, evil spectre of a shriek rose right in front of him, lifting a clawed talon to strike at him. Carver was at his side, though, and together they managed to fend off the first wave of attackers.

Nathaniel shouted commands, positioning the companions in different spots all around the cave. Thorin knew he and Carver had to get up close, while the archer and the mage would do what damage they could from a distance. Recalling Nathaniel's earlier warnings, he took care to keep his feet on the more solid patches of ground, avoiding the pools of slime whence the broodmother's tentacles could emerge any moment. Even so, he was nearly swept off his feet by one of the monstrous arms before it collapsed, hacked neatly into two halves by Carver's huge blade.

He managed to get close enough to the giant rump to get in a few well-placed strikes, but had to jump back quickly, when the creature turned to face him. With a squelching noise, it emptied the stinking contents of its belly right in the place where he had been standing only moments before. Thorin felt his own stomach lurch and heave in response. Behind him, Carver cried out in pain as a drop of venomous spit hit his bracer, burning right through the metal and searing his skin. Velanna must have heard it too, because the familiar glow of a minor healing spell lit up around the young man's arm, soothing his pain.

More genlocks appeared, swarming out from behind the lair, and the fighting continued. As Thorin swung his axe, taking advantage of every lull in darkspawn attacks to injure the broodmother a little further, he lost track of how long their struggle lasted. Their opponent's shapeless torso was covered in arrows, most of them still smouldering faintly. The churned-up ground bore witness to the power of Velanna's magical attacks, enormous thorny roots that had left gaping wounds in their foe's extremities. Velanna might not be much of a healer, but she could certainly inflict damage.

Thorin was beginning to think they were close to winning, when he heard a stifled cry from Nathaniel's position. He turned toward the sound, and held his breath. The archer had ventured too close to the front and a tentacle had grabbed him around the chest, lifting him up, shaking him from side to side and squeezing him like a ripe fruit. Carver was screaming incoherently, hacking at the arm with his greatsword until the thing finally loosened its grip, and Nathaniel's body fell hard to the ground. As he lay there, still and unmoving, the broodmother raised herself as high as she could, seeming to shake with laughter.

Looking at the pale, frightened faces of his remaining two companions, Thorin was gripped by a fierce surge of determination. Acting purely on instinct, he barked commands at those who were still standing, while he himself advanced steadily toward the beast, his axe raised high. The ground trembled as Velanna focussed her magic once again. Carver's face was white like a sheet and he charged without any regard for his own safety.

The broodmother grew increasingly frantic, spitting and puffing at them, its teeth bared in a last desperate effort, but it was in vain. With an almost jubilant cry, Carver ran his sword deep into its belly, slicing it open from one side to the other, spilling guts and blood and slime all over the floor. The creature gave a final, strangled cry and collapsed. The remaining darkspawn summoned by the broodmother's power ran for their lives, frightened by her sudden demise. The cave grew deadly quiet. It was over. They had won.

Thorin sank back against a boulder, breathing heavily, trying to get his strength back, when Velanna approached him, her eyes sparkling with anger. "You. Dwarf. Why did you presume to take command? I am the senior warden after Nathaniel. _I _should have led you all into battle, not some raw recruit."

Red rage rose within him, almost blinding him. All the hatred he had ever felt towards her race boiled up again, all the slights he had suffered at the hands of Thranduil and his wood elves came back in a flash. Velanna's haughty features, her long, blond hair and her cool green eyes grew blurry and for a moment he actually _saw_ the King of Mirkwood in her place, heard the cultivated voice questioning him and sentencing him to imprisonment. His hands itched to grab her thin body and shake her, make her take back her words and beg his forgiveness.

Breath by shaking breath, he fought to subdue his anger, clenching his hands into fists so tightly that the skin tightened above his knuckles. This wasn't Thranduil, and the old quarrels were no longer important. This was Velanna, and much as her manner grated on his nerves, she was his fellow warden, his sister, and Sigrun's good friend, and he had no reason to hate her.

Yet he couldn't, wouldn't take her insults quietly. "I would have gladly left command to you, _my lady_, had you taken it! But surely even you can see-"

"Thorin! Velanna!" Carver's pained voice cut him off. The young warden knelt next to Nathaniel, cradling the archer's head in his lap. "This is not the time for your quarrels. He's dying!" Tears ran down his cheeks.

Velanna grew pale. Without another look at Thorin, she rushed to join Carver. Thorin followed her slowly. Nathaniel's face was deathly pale, and a thin line of blood trailed down from the corner of his mouth. The tentacle must have broken several ribs and crushed his lungs. In Thorin's experience, an injury like this was almost certainly bound to be fatal, but he had come to understand that the magical healing powers of this world were far beyond anything he had ever known.

Hopefully he glanced at Velanna. "Can you help him?"

But to his dismay, the elven mage shook her head. "This is beyond my skill. I can heal part of this, make him hold on a little longer, but he needs more care than I can give." Her hands ran feverishly along Nathaniel's chest, glowing blue, but it was obvious she was exhausted and out of her depth.

"Blight it, Velanna, you have to save him!" Carver's eyes were wild. "I knew you were useless! We should have taken Anders. We should never have come here. I-" He broke off with a sob, hiding his face in his hands, his whole body shaking with despair.

Velanna got up stiffly, her face unreadable. "I did what I could. Take him back to the Keep." Without a backward glance, she disappeared into a tunnel, not bothering to explain where she was going.

Thorin watched her go, unable to hide his consternation. "Velanna. Velanna!"

But she was already gone. With a sigh, he put a hand on Carver's shoulder. "Come on. Let's head home."

* * *

_Many thanks to heretherebdragons for making this a much better read!  
_


	3. The Best Choice

**Chapter 3 - The Best Choice**

Thorin finished filling his water skin and headed back toward their makeshift camp, eyeing the clouded sky with a worried frown. He sent a silent prayer to Aulë, creator of the dwarves, to intercede with the Lord of the Skies and ask him to keep away the rains for a little longer. If the roads became muddy, they would lose what slim chance they had of being back in time to save Nathaniel's life.

While he'd been gone, Carver had built a good fire, taking care to place Nathaniel's stretcher close enough for warmth. The archer had hardly opened his eyes in the two days since they had left the broodmother's lair. Most of the time he was unconscious, awakening only occasionally to accept some water, which he swallowed with a pained grimace. He looked gaunt and hollow, with deep, violet shadows under his eyes, his cheeks sunken and his lips chapped and dry. Thorin sighed. _If it wasn't for his Warden constitution, he'd be dead already. _

"We should press on." Carver spoke abruptly, his face sullen, his eyes dark with despair. "Every minute we waste sitting here-"

"It's no use trying to find our way in the dark with a stretcher." Thorin made an effort to sound gentle.

Carver had reined in his initial almost hysterical reaction to Nathaniel's injury, but he had hardly said a word during their journey, his fists tight around the grips of the stretcher, his face shuttered and grim. _He's still very young,_ Thorin reminded himself. But then, no matter how old he got himself, he would never get used to losing friends, family, people he loved. For a moment the pain flamed up again in his chest as the images returned: Fili, run through by a goblin's sword, Kili's head smashed by a mace, both of his beloved nephews dead before their time, because they had tried to save him.

Nathaniel moaned feebly, tossing his head from one side to the other. Thorin reached inside his pack for the last of the healing potions they had brought. They had fed them all to Nathaniel, drop by drop, hoping and praying they would have some sort of effect. At least they seemed to alleviate his pain a little.

He was about to suggest they put up a tent for the night when a rustling noise at the edge of the trees made him start. Yet as he reached for his weapon, he heard a familiar voice call out to him.

"Thorin. Carver. Hold back. It's me, Anders." And indeed the tall silhouette of the mage in his pauldroned robes was unmistakable.

"Anders?" The surge of hope in Carver's voice made Thorin wince in sympathy. "Oh please, you have to help him."

"Shhh, I'll handle it, don't you worry." Anders' breezy smile quickly turned into a frown at the sight of Nathaniel's prone body. "Maker, Nate! Don't you dare..." He sank to his knees, his hands already lighting up with a healing aura. "Right, Carver, please hold him for me. And help me take off his armour, yes, just like that. Thorin, get me some fresh water, will you?"

He didn't even turn his head as he spoke, but Thorin didn't hesitate. When he returned with a bowl of water moments later, they had removed Nathaniel's chest piece and shirt, baring his bruised and battered torso to the cool evening air. Anders cursed under his breath, but set to healing him immediately. It was a lengthy and strenuous process, and the mage's face turned pale, tiny droplets of sweat appearing on his forehead. Twice Nathaniel arched up from the stretcher, crying out in pain, and at one point Anders had to pause to down a lyrium potion.

Finally he sat back, washing his hands in the water bowl and glancing affectionately down at his patient who looked a lot less pale and drained. "That's it. He's no longer in immediate danger. It was a close call, though."

Carver bit back a sob, and Thorin nodded, looking at the mage in awe. "It's a good thing you came to meet us. But tell me, how did you get here so fast? There's no way-"

"Oh, there are a number of ways, believe me." Anders smiled a tired smile. "Velanna arrived at the Keep a few hours ago. She was pretty frantic, insisted it was urgent, so I took a shortcut through the Fade." Seeing the stunned expressions on their faces, he shook his head. "Look, this is not something I do on a daily basis. I couldn't have done it without Velanna's help, nor without an existing bond..." Looking down at Nathaniel's pale, silent face, the mage swallowed hard.

Thorin averted his gaze, aware of what remained unsaid and why. Anders rose with a sigh, his hand resting briefly on Carver's back. "I need to rest a while, and then do some more healing before he's fit to travel. You should get some sleep too."

* * *

Sigrun kept telling herself that she was not the type of girl to sit around pining for her absent lover, worrying about his fate. She had enough tasks to keep her occupied until the patrol returned, and they wouldn't be here any earlier if she spent all her time gazing wistfully out of the window, wishing they were here.

Still, she found she couldn't quite focus on whetting her dagger or sorting her collection of poisons. If she could at least talk to Velanna, learn more about what had befallen them down in the Deep Roads. But the elven mage had withdrawn to her room to rest, utterly exhausted by her wild rush to get back to the Keep, and drained from the complicated spell that had sent Anders off on his rescue mission.

_Probably drained in the literal sense of the word._ Sigrun knew Velanna had dabbled in blood magic, and she had never heard of a spell that powerful being achieved by normal means. Yet Megan hadn't batted an eyelash when Anders had suggested it. If it was the only way to save Nathaniel...

Not that she blamed the Commander. If it had been Thorin's life in the balance, she would have done the same. Sigrun was no romantic and didn't believe in fanciful professions of undying love, but at the same time she didn't give her heart away easily. And if she did, she meant it.

There was a commotion down in the hall, and before she knew it, she was on her feet, rushing down the stairs. Yes. They were back.

Megan was kneeling on the floor, next to Nathaniel's stretcher, joy and concern warring on her face. "Will he be alright, Anders? No lasting damage?"

"Of course he will." Anders' face bore a curious mixture of pride and longing as he looked at them. "You know I've got the touch."

Sigrun spared a glance for Nathaniel, relieved to see a smile on his face, but at the same time she couldn't help looking out for the one she really wanted to see. And when he appeared in the doorway, tired and blood-spattered, his face lighting up at the sight of her, she forgot all her earlier qualms and threw herself straight into his arms.

"Thorin!" There was so much more she wanted to say, but when his strong arms closed around her, gathering her tight to his chest, and she heard the low rumble of his laughter, she forgot about everything else. She glanced up at him, unable to stop the happy grin spreading across her face. "Come to bed," she mouthed silently at him.

He laughed again, setting her back down on the ground without letting go of her. "Commander? Do I have your leave to clean up and rest?"

Megan barely looked up as she nodded, and they set off without further delay. At the door to the baths, he kissed her, quick and hard, then let go of her with a regretful sigh. "Wait for me in your room, love. I'll be quick."

She smiled up at him. "And once you're finished..."

He gave her a decidedly more predatory look in return. "Once I'm finished I expect a proper welcome home."

Sigrun didn't have to wait for long. Before she even had time to undress, there was a knock on her door, and then he entered. He hadn't bothered with getting dressed again and wore nothing but a towel around his waist. His long hair flowed in damp curls down his back, smoothed back from his forehead. She couldn't suppress a happy sigh at the sight of him, and from his smug expression she knew he had heard it. But by the Stone, how she had missed his body, the hard planes of his chest, covered in a fine sheen of dark hair, the tattoos emphasizing the taut muscles of his upper arms, his toned stomach.

"Well?" Thorin was obviously way past the point where he wanted to waste time on banter. Without hesitation, he pulled her into his arms, moulding her body close to his, letting her feel just how much he wanted her. The room seemed suddenly far too warm, and she scrambled to undo the buttons on her tunic while she raised her lips to his, begging silently for his kiss. He didn't need to be asked twice. His mouth was hard and demanding on hers, his hand on the back of her head holding her firmly and decisively.

"Sigrun." As he let go of her lips, a shudder ran through his whole body. "Tell me you're mine."

"All yours." She smiled to herself as she indulged his whim.

Thorin had turned out to be far more possessive than she had expected. Yet, she didn't mind, even though it was unusual for Wardens to be so exclusive in their affections. And her past in Dust Town certainly hadn't predisposed her to be faithful to one man only. But Thorin... As she felt him hard against her stomach, his hot, calloused hands sliding up under her tunic, she couldn't imagine why she should ever want another man again. No other man could make her feel like that, burning hot with desire for him, his body, his lips, his touch. No other man could ever satisfy the urgent craving building up in her body, the need to be _filled_, to be completed, to be made whole by him. No other-

There was another knock on the door, hard and businesslike, followed by the crisp voice of Captain Garevel, who commanded the Keep's Guard. "Wardens. The Commander asks you to come into her office. She has urgent matters to discuss with you."

Sigrun could have killed the man. And the Commander, while she was at it. What on Thedas had possessed Megan to summon them now? Thorin's exasperated groan told her he felt much the same. Reluctantly, they let go of each other, not bothering to hide their frustration.

"This is not over." Thorin's eyes were stormy as he grabbed a few pieces of clothing from the chest he kept in her room. "I have a few _urgent_ matters of my own to attend to later."

* * *

When they arrived in Megan's quarters, they found her seated at Nathaniel's side, perched on the armrest of the comfortable chair he was reclining in. He looked weak but much improved, and he greeted them with a warm, genuine smile.

"Thorin. And Sigrun." Megan jumped to her feet to greet them, then paused, regarding their grim faces in genuine confusion until understanding dawned in her eyes. "Oh Maker. I'm sorry, both of you. I didn't think-"

Nathaniel chuckled quietly. "Just because I am out of action, Meg, doesn't mean others feel the same."

The Commander actually blushed. "Please forgive me. I... I only wanted to thank you, Thorin. Carver and Nathaniel told me about the battle, and how you saved them all with your resolute action. I am eternally grateful to you." Her face was more earnest than he had ever seen it.

"I did my duty, Commander, nothing more." He felt flustered by her praise.

Megan smiled. "That's one way of looking at it. However..." She walked over to her desk and picked up a letter. "There's one other thing I need to talk to you about. This is a message from King Bhelen Aeducan, the dwarven king of Orzammar."

Sigrun and Oghren had explained the workings of the dwarven government to Thorin and he knew Bhelen owed his throne in no small measure to Megan's timely intervention, given in return for his support during the Blight.

"Bhelen has sent me a formal request, asking the Wardens of Ferelden to send an official ambassador to Orzammar. Which is a splendid idea, no doubt." Megan made a face. "But who can I send?" She sighed. "Nate could do it. He has the training and the presence to stand up to King Bhelen and his nobles, and they would respect his name, but I need him here."

Thorin nodded. It was more than obvious how close she and the archer had become lately and how hard put the Commander would be to let him go.

Megan sighed and ran a hand through her unruly mop of hair, tousling it further. "Besides, whoever goes will have to stay underground for months, maybe years. Only a dwarf can handle that, and I can hardly ask Oghren."

Thorin bit back a smirk. He couldn't recall ever seeing Oghren sober enough to keep up a civil conversation. Imagining him in a diplomatic setting was... disquieting, to say the least_. _"So you would send Sigrun?" Not that he wanted her to leave.

"They would never accept her." Megan glanced apologetically at Sigrun, who shrugged, not seeming particularly offended. "One glance will tell them she's a duster, hardly worthy of their notice at the best of times. Besides, she joined the Legion of the Dead when she left Orzammar. As far as the dwarves there are concerned, she's dead and it's bad manners for her to still be breathing. No, Thorin. I think _you_ are by far the best choice."

* * *

_Hugs and thanks to heretherebdragons for another awesome beta job!  
_


	4. Too Much

**Chapter 4 - Too Much**

Thorin inhaled sharply, utterly taken by surprise by Megan's suggestion. "Me? An ambassador? With all due respect, Commander, I'm hardly a diplomat. And I'm still new to this world. I don't know the first thing about Orzammar and its politics."

"I won't send you there alone." The Commander's face was determined. "Sigrun will come along, in an... unofficial capacity, and she will be able to help you. But you know, I think you will make a splendid ambassador, all regal and dignified. We'll just have to make up a plausible history for you. We can hardly tell King Bhelen you are from another world."

Sigrun who had been quiet so far, snorted. "No, that wouldn't go down so well. But..." Her eyes had taken on a mischievous gleam. "We could introduce him by his first name only, or better yet as _Thorin Oakenshield_." She grinned at him over her shoulder and Thorin just barely managed not to roll his eyes. When he'd first told her about the epithet he'd earned for himself, Sigrun had been singularly unimpressed. Or to be exact, she had thought it was hilarious. _Oakenshield, eh? Well I can think of a few other things about you that grow as strong and tall as an oak tree. _He had laughed; how could he not? But her levity had definitely rankled his pride.

Megan motioned for Sigrun to go on, and she grinned even more widely. "Once we've arrived, I could easily drop some hints that he is really from a noble family, high-born enough to be kings or princes, but exiled several generations ago. I'm sure Thorin will have no trouble playing the part. No one will doubt he's a noble. Normal people just don't behave like that."

Thorin shook his head. "But wouldn't a family as aristocratic as this be recorded in the archives of the Shaperate? How do we explain that there are no records of them?"

Sigrun grinned. "It depends. We could always say they were so ashamed of having ended up on the surface that they gave up their family name and had all mention of their disgrace struck from the Memories. It wouldn't be the first instance of a Shaper omitting records that are embarrassing to a noble family. I remember carrying bribes for just that purpose back when I was still with the Carta."

Nathaniel nodded slowly. "Yes, that should work. That's pretty much the way they think."

Thorin frowned. "Why would anyone be ashamed of living on the surface?" He much preferred to be underground, true, but in his experience, dealing with the world of elves and humans was a simple necessity, if only to trade for food and other surface goods.

Sigrun smiled affectionately at him. "Why indeed. My people are a bit funny that way. They don't take kindly to dwarves choosing to live topside, call them _sun-touched_, or _cloudgazers_, or worse. Surfacers rank just barely above the casteless."

He shook his head. "But that is stupid. Dwarves should stick together. Didn't you say there are fewer of them every year? Why would there be division among them?"

Sigrun made a quick, obscene gesture. "Because, to quote Oghren, the noble caste has a stick up its collective butt. Snooty nug-lickers!Excuse my Orlesian, Commander." She didn't look particularly repentant, though.

Thorin was quiet, still mulling on what she had told him. He couldn't imagine the dwarves of his world being so at odds with each other. But then he remembered what his father had taught him as a boy, about the Petty-dwarves of Beleriand. Exiles too, and hardly more than animals in the eyes of the elves and humans, despised by their own people. Of course that was ancient history, but still...

He tore himself from his musings to face Megan again. "Commander, I need to know more about this mission. Assuming I accept this task. I still feel it's too much, too soon."

Nathaniel shook his head impatiently. "I've seen what you can do. You are more than just a capable warrior, you're a leader. Your talents are wasted on simple Warden duties."

Megan nodded. "I need you to do this. It's important. And of course you will know more. But there's not much time. You need to leave soon, before the snows set in and the mountains become impassable." Her face softened as she looked both of them over. "Get off to bed now, you two. But I will need your answer tomorrow."

* * *

As soon as the door closed behind them, Thorin's eyes caught hers, and Sigrun had to bite back a moan. Intriguing as Megan's proposal had been, it was obvious there were other things on his mind right now.

"Your room. Now." Ancestors, he was using _that_ tone of voice again.

It was only thanks, no doubt, to his superior capacity for self-discipline that they made it back to her room before their clothes came off. Sigrun was pretty certain that she wouldn't have objected to him taking her right there, against the wall outside Megan's office. But he held out, his tight grip around her wrist the only indication of his fraying control.

There was no holding back once they were in her room, though. Pulling her hard towards him, he took hold of her head and kissed her with a greed that made her gasp, claiming her mouth so thoroughly that she didn't even notice them crossing the room over to her bed. Pausing for air, he gave her a gentle shove so she tumbled back onto the coverlet.

"Take off your clothes." His eyes never left hers as he tore off his own shirt and pants, and she hurried to follow his command, revelling in the sight of him.

Oh, but he was magnificent! Hard and strong and muscular, his shoulders wide and his stomach flat and toned, his hair and beard thick and luscious, everything a man should be. There was no need for him to touch her to send sparks of lust down to her core, just watching him was enough, watching him and hearing the deep growl of his voice as he told her how he wanted her.

And then he was above her, lips and tongue on her nipples, hands parting her legs and she was soaked for him already, yearning to have him inside her, ready to beg for him. But there would be no begging, no teasing, not tonight when he had waited so long to make her his again. Without hesitation, he opened her up, spread her wide and entered her in a single, blunt stroke. She screamed against his shoulder in pleasure, her nails raking down his broad back, scrambling for purchase.

"Sigrun, I-" He didn't have to tell her he was hanging by a thread. She could feel it, feel the pulsing of him inside her, feel the tension in his whole body, just about ready to burst, but she needed him a little longer, just a tiny bit. Sigrun was so close herself already, her body clenching around him in anticipation. All she needed was a few more thrusts, a little friction... But it was too much. As soon as he moved, he lost all semblance of control, his hips snapping hard against her, faster, jerkier, and she held on, clinging to him, so close, just a little more-

When he collapsed above her with a deep, throaty groan, leaving her just on the edge of ecstasy, she grabbed his shoulders hard and pushed him down, asking him wordlessly to complete what he had started. Thorin chuckled softly, but he complied, his tongue painting lazy circles on her aching flesh, making her mewl with pleasure, then moving deeper to thrust insistently inside her. Sigrun arched up high under his caresses, her body taut as a bowstring, and it felt so good, so perfect, it was _almost_ too much. Just then he turned his head and his beard scraped against her, and it _was_ too much. She cried out in pain and shoved him back hard. Thorin sat back with a resigned huff, his gaze dark and hungry on her.

"I'm sorry, love, it's just..." She wiggled in frustration. "Too much, too good, I can't..."

A wicked gleam appeared in his eyes. "Oh yes, you can." He slithered back down so his face was level with her sex again, but instead of caressing her again, he reached for her hand and brought it down between her legs. "Touch yourself." She knew that tone, knew he would accept no contradiction. "Go on."

Sigrun felt a blush rise from her chest to her face. She should have known he wouldn't forget her teasing, back before he had left. It had been fun to tickle his imagination then, but she found that actually going through with this, here under his watchful eye, was something else altogether. Yet here he was, daring her to make good on her taunts, and she had never backed down from a challenge before.

Squeezing her eyes firmly shut, she began moving her hand, smiling to herself when his breath hitched at the sight. Soon she found a rhythm, carefully avoiding overstimulated spots, her fingers light and deft, her pleasure building up again, and this time she knew there would be no going back.

Thorin made no move to touch her, though she sensed that his avid gaze never left her. She could hear his breath coming in quick, hard gasps, and feel him grow hard again against her thigh. _Shit, Commander, you had no idea what you were doing when you made him a Warden, did you_? It was one of her last clear thoughts before everything was heat and urgency and stars bursting behind her eyes as she shuddered in his arms, completely overcome.

He didn't wait for her to recover, just flipped her over and thrust inside her again from behind. His hands were rough and firm on her hips and he was thick and hard, and Ancestors, she was still coming, or maybe again, and again, and it just wouldn't end! She was drifting on a cloud, every cell in her body screaming with pleasure, every pore of her skin tingling with lust. Sigrun couldn't have said whether she was crying or laughing or maybe whimpering with lust, all she knew was how good it was, how incredibly, mind-blowingly, overwhelmingly good.

When he finally let go of her, spent and sated, she shivered all over, no strength left in her body, and was grateful for his strong arms around her.

"That was . . . amazing," she murmured, and she felt his arms tighten around her, his warmth anchoring her and keeping her safe as she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

It was late when Nathaniel finally fell into a fitful sleep. Megan knew he still was in a lot of pain, even if he refused to admit it. Her throat tightened as she looked down on his sleeping face, so familiar and yet still so mysterious to her in many ways. She had wanted him for as long as she could remember, but she would never have imagined they would end up together like this, the Commander of the Grey and her trusted lieutenant, both of them doomed to give their lives to save the world from the darkspawn taint. The taint they carried inside them, the taint that would kill them both. _Not quite yet, though._ She shook herself, trying to get rid of the dark thoughts.

Carver stirred in his sleep on the bunk bed he had insisted they put up for him next to the big four-poster. He hadn't wanted to disturb Nathaniel's rest, yet his need to be close to them was almost tangible. His face was relaxed, the sullen frown gone for now, and he looked very young, very vulnerable. _Carver_. Megan gently pulled the blanket over his bare shoulder. Another development she hadn't anticipated when he'd arrived here and she had taken him into her bed. She'd been prepared for a short fling, a few passionate nights before he moved on to another love, nothing more. And even now she wasn't sure where this was going.

The more stolid members of Ferelden's nobility would no doubt have been scandalized, had they known what the last surviving members of the Cousland and Howe families were up to, but Megan cared little about conventions. She had never fancied the destiny awaiting her as a gentlewoman, never wanted to be a breeding mare or a pawn in her father's political games. Perhaps being a Warden, even with all its challenges and hardships, was preferable to the life she would have had if the Blight had not happened. Either way, she would apologize to no one for taking pleasure – and love – where she could find it.

Megan yawned and stretched languidly before curling up in the armchair next to the bed. Being a Warden might be a hard calling, taxing even her eternal optimism at times, but right now, in the company of her two lovers, listening to their deep breaths and occasional snores, there was no place she'd rather be.

* * *

Thorin woke to find Sigrun already awake and playing lazily with a curl of his hair, her expression pensive. He ran his hand over the generous curve of her hips, letting it rest on her bottom, pulling her closer toward him. They had spent most nights together since he'd come here, yet he couldn't get enough of her body, so trim and taut, such a perfect fit for his hands.

She blinked up at him, placing a kiss on his shoulder. "So... An ambassador, yeah? Should I call you 'Your Lordship' now? Or whatever it is you ought to be called?"

"'Your Excellency', I believe. And anyway, I haven't agreed to Megan's plan yet," he reminded her, tracing the lines of the tattoo on her cheek with his finger.

Sigrun snorted. "You're not going to say no, are you?" When he didn't answer straight away, she boxed him hard in the ribs, making him flinch. "Come on. Enough with the false modesty. You know very well how impressive you are." She grinned at his frown. "Especially when you look all angry and growly, like you do now."

"Well, you don't seem very impressed." He tried to sound grumpy, but failed. It was simply impossible to stay mad at her for long. "Modesty has nothing to do with it. It's just..."

"You don't like being in a situation where you have to rely on others." Her observation was uncomfortably close to the truth, and he was momentarily at a loss for words.

Sigrun rolled over on her stomach and looked at him, her piercing blue eyes fixed on him relentlessly. "It's not a problem. You can trust me to be there, to help you with anything you can't handle by yourself. We can do this together. I'm your fellow Warden, not just your lover. I'll be at your side, no matter what."

Thorin almost smiled at the earnest conviction of her tone. "I still don't like the idea of being out of my depth."

He pulled her up so she came to lie on top of him, propped up on her elbows on his massive chest. She looked almost fragile compared to him, but he knew how deceptive her appearance was. Sigrun was tough and resilient, more so than many a warrior he had known.

"I trust you, love. If I have to place my fate in anyone's hands, I much prefer yours to anybody else's. I love you." His voice almost failed him for a moment. "I will tell Megan we can leave as soon as our things are packed."

* * *

_Big hugs to heretherebdragons for finding all the little flaws and inconsistencies. Any remaining errors are my own ;).  
_


	5. Battles of the Past

**Chapter 5 - Battles of the Past**

"Look. This is the North Road." Megan pointed out a thin, pale line on the map she had spread out on her desk. "You can follow it for the better part of your journey, until you reach Lake Calenhad. Better stick to the road, the Coastlands can be swampy at this time of the year. Then you have a piece of the old Imperial Highway along the western lakeshore, which will take you right to the foot of the Frostback Mountains. A short way up Gherlen's Pass, you will find the entrance to Orzammar." She straightened, wincing when she stretched her back. "It will take you at least two weeks to get there, maybe three."

Thorin nodded. "The route seems straightforward enough. And Sigrun has travelled this way before, haven't you, love?"

"Actually, not so much." Sigrun made a face. "I left Orzammar by way of the Deep Roads. Before I met Megan, I never even got close to the surface. But I'm sure we'll be much safer above ground, with no darkspawn to worry about."

Megan smiled. "You'll be fine. There's someone else who will be travelling with you, and they know their way."

At her gesture, Nathaniel opened the door to admit two more dwarves. Thorin greeted them with a friendly nod. He had nothing but admiration for the handiwork of Master Voldrik, the stonemason in charge of the Keep's defences. His brother Dworkin "the Mad", a weaponsmith specializing in bombs and grenades, didn't inspire quite as much confidence, yet he was undoubtedly a master of his craft as well.

"Well, I never thought I'd set sight on Orzammar again," Voldrik grumbled. "But the Shaperate needs to know about this." With deft movements he unwrapped the large stone tablet he was carrying. It was carefully crafted and inscribed with what seemed to be a list of names.

"What is this?" Thorin's curiosity was piqued at this renewed mention of the Shaperate.

He had heard a lot about this dwarven institution, dedicated to preserving memories and recording important events. Sigrun and Oghren had told him that the Shapers were highly regarded in Orzammar and he was inclined to share this respect. Preserving heroic deeds and near-forgotten lore for future generations, making sure they wouldn't be forgotten - that was a worthy task, even if Sigrun's earlier remarks had shaken his confidence in their integrity a little.

To his surprise, it was Nathaniel who answered. "We found this marker in the Deep Roads, in what is left of the Trade Quarter in Kal'Hirol. In the normal course of events, we probably wouldn't have thought much of it, but we had found this journal earlier on." He handed Thorin a bundle of crackling sheets of paper, covered in a small, spidery script.

"This was written by a dwarven warrior called Dailan." Megan's face was unusually sombre. "It tells the story of the last days of Kal'Hirol, before the thaig was overrun by darkspawn."

Thorin opened a page at random and quickly scanned it. _The darkspawn are almost at the gates of Kal'Hirol. The fortress must be evacuated._.. _Scouts have sighted the horde. It is vast. _Thorin nodded to himself. He knew what it meant to have to give up your home, to be faced with an all-powerful adversary. Shuddering, he turned another page. _I have volunteered to remain behind with a contingent of men. We'll hold off the darkspawn so others can escape. _"The man who wrote this... he was a hero."

Nathaniel nodded. "And his name will be recorded as such. But the most important part is here." He pointed to a small red ribbon inserted between the pages. "Read it aloud. It bears repeating."

Thorin opened the book at the marked passage. "The darkspawn have pushed us back to the inner keep. Only a handful of us survive, but we've held them back five days. We've held them back five days. We could not have done this without the casteless - no, not casteless. To call them _casteless_ would be a mistake. Their sacrifice must not be forgotten."

"And it won't." Master Voldrik's face was determined. "We are going to take this to Orzammar and the Shapers will record it. My brother and I can show you the way, Wardens. We are experienced travellers and have spent almost all our lives on the surface."

"I shall be honoured to have you at my side." Thorin nodded gravely. "When can we leave?"

"Mistress Woolsey is overseeing the packing right now," Megan replied. "You should be good to go in two days."

* * *

The door closed behind the dwarves and Megan leant back against her desk with a wan smile, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands.

"What's the matter? Tired?" Nathaniel pulled her into a gentle embrace, kissing the top of her head. "You need to get some rest."

She huddled closer to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. _So good to be finally able to touch him again. _She'd tried her best to hide it, but she had been worried sick about him. Part of her knew it was risky to rely on him so much, making herself vulnerable to loss and grief, but she couldn't help it. Even a Commander needed someone to bear the load with her.

"Is this a mistake, Nate?" When he made a questioning noise, she elaborated. "Am I putting too much trust in Thorin? We've only known him for a few months. What if-"

"Shhh." Nathaniel pushed her back a little so he could look into her eyes. "Thorin is trustworthy, I'm sure of that. They'll be fine." Planting a kiss on the tip of her nose, he chuckled softly. "Honestly, now you start worrying! Shouldn't you have considered that before you asked him?"

"Yeah, yeah." She shot him a dark look. "Because you've never made an impulsive decision in your life."

"Well, I do tend to think before I act, unlike some people I know- Ouch!" He gripped his chest dramatically, as if her hard little fist had mortally wounded him. "Is that any way to treat a recovering invalid?"

Megan's eyes narrowed. "You, my dear, are obviously back to form. I wonder..." A vicious little smile played around her lips as she let her hand graze up his body, then along his throat until she reached his jaw line, her caress light as a feather.

Nathaniel swallowed hard, his hand tightening in her hair, and bent her back a little, so that he loomed over her even more than usual. "What?" His voice had taken on that gravelly quality that never failed to have an effect on her.

"I wonder if you are up for more... vigorous activities again." Megan shivered when his lips trailed up her throat, hot and greedy. With a small twist of her body, she brought their hips together, moaning when she felt him against her. "It seems I've got my answer."

"Meg..." Nathaniel made a low noise at the back of his throat, almost a growl, and then he lifted her with his strong hands and placed her on the desk, stepping between her parted legs. Pulling her close again, he kissed her hard. "Did you miss me?"

"Of course I did, you blighted fool," Megan gasped against his mouth. "Never do this again, you hear me. What on Thedas possessed you to go up against a broodmother without-"

"Shut up." He silenced her with another scorching kiss. "You can lecture me all you want later, but now..." He pushed up her tunic, his hands shaking with need. "Now we have more important things to do."

* * *

"What I wouldn't give for a pony now!" Thorin sounded more grumpy than usual, and Sigrun was grateful for her hood that hid her smirk.

It was the evening of the sixth day since they had left Vigil's Keep, and so far their journey had been uneventful. Too uneventful for Thorin, apparently. It was obvious he was getting bored with their slow progress. He kept striding off on his long legs, too fast for her and the other two dwarves to keep up with him, then waited impatiently for them to catch up.

"Honestly, Thorin, it's not so bad." She tried to sound patient. "We have the mules to carry our stuff for us, and the road is in pretty good shape. I've been on far worse journeys. And so have you, I bet."

His jaw tightened, but he didn't respond. Sigrun sighed inwardly at the far-away look in his eyes. What other journey was he thinking of, back in the world he had left behind? She still knew so little about his past. He was quite a bit older than she was, that much she was certain of, although for all she knew they measured time differently where he came from. Yet the streaks of grey in his hair and beard told their own story, even if they served to make him look more distinguished.

She was glad they hadn't been bothered by attackers so far. It seemed that Megan's rigorous prosecution of the bandits who had terrorized the roads of the arldom had finally paid off. They hadn't encountered any darkspawn either, and that was the best news they'd had in years. With the Architect and the Mother gone, it seemed the vile creatures had finally withdrawn into the deep again.

Thorin knew all that, and yet he was restless and seemed to be itching for a fight. _Well, maybe there's another reason for his restlessness. _Even though they had a tent to themselves, he had resisted all her advances so far, obviously uncomfortable with the thought of anyone else hearing the noises they made.

Sigrun took another look at his glum face and sighed. Giving up the attempt of cheering him up, she fell back to chat with Voldrik for a while. The stonemason greeted her with a fatherly smile. They had become friendly during the past few days. His brother busied himself mostly with the pack mules, frequently checking on the animals, but Voldrik was sociable enough, and it was true he knew the road well.

"Two more days, maybe three, until we reach West Hill." He dug in his pocket for his pipe. "Bann Franderel is a hospitable sort, or at least his servants are. We could spend a night or two at the fortress, dry out our gear, stock up on provisions. It's not too far out of our way, and it's a good place for a rest, almost halfway to Orzammar."

"Sounds good to me." She wondered whether he had come to his own conclusions regarding Thorin's grumpiness. The man had been around Wardens for quite some time now, after all, and knew about their big appetites. Still, no matter what his motives were, she was looking forward to their little break.

* * *

Following Voldrik's directions, they came upon the vast old fortress of West Hill three days later. Most of it was lying in ruins or used to store goods and provisions, but what remained was impressive enough. Huge, crumbling watchtowers overlooking the Waking Sea, seemingly endless walls and battlements, and a towering great hall, this last one freshly renovated and obviously in use.

They entered by way of the kitchen entrance, where they were greeted by a friendly old housekeeper. The Bann was at court in Denerim, but they much preferred the informal atmosphere of the servants' quarters anyway. After a sumptuous dinner of stew and freshly baked bread, they settled at the large oaken table with their mugs of ale and listened to the stories of the retired guard captain, a one-eyed veteran called Angus. He had spent his whole life at West Hill and knew more about the place than any of the noble lords that had come and gone.

"You want to be careful wandering around the place at night." The old man's hands were shaky and crippled with gout, but his eyes were bright and clear. "It's easy to get lost in the dark. Not even I could tell you where all the passages lead. And who knows what lurks down in the cellars and dungeons?"

"Gah, stop it, Angus." The housekeeper deftly nudged him in the ribs. "Save that for the children. Our guests are Grey Wardens." She nodded respectfully at Thorin and Sigrun. "They won't be scared by your tales of ghosts and ghouls."

"Laugh all you want, woman," Angus grumbled. "This place is old, and it's seen more than enough pain and suffering."

"Wasn't there a famous battle here, during the Rebellion?" Sigrun scuttled closer to Thorin on the bench, settling comfortably against his shoulder.

"Aye, there was. Got close to being the end of the Rebellion, too." Angus took a deep draught. "The Orlesians crushed Prince Maric's forces, and damn near killed him. Arl Rendorn Guerrin died in battle that night, Arl Eamon's father that was. Blighted Orlesians! Teyrn Loghain was right not to trust them when they offered their so-called help."

Thorin raised a questioning eyebrow at Sigrun who just shrugged. The history of Ferelden was still confusing to him, with all the talk of usurpers and rebellions, teyrns and arls. Nathaniel had done his best to explain things to him, and he knew Maric had gone on to become king, and a good king by all accounts. His bastard son Alistair now ruled the country, together with Loghain's daughter Anora. But beyond that...

They lingered for a while longer, caught up in Angus' anecdotes, but then headed towards their quarters. To Thorin's surprise, he and Sigrun had a room to themselves. The housekeeper left them alone with a quick wink in Sigrun's direction and he raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

"I thought it would be nice to have a little privacy." She walked over to him, a huge grin on her face, and methodically began to loosen the buckles on his armour. "Since you seemed so unhappy with the lack of it in camp."

"Am I that easy to read?" He reached for her armour straps in turn.

"In some respects." Sigrun's grin widened even further as their clothes came off piece by piece. "Or maybe I just know the signs by now."

Thorin finished undressing and stretched out on the large, comfortable bed with a contented sigh, pulling her into his arms. "I'd love to explore those dungeons Angus mentioned," he muttered into her hair. "I'm sure there's all kinds of treasures to be found in a place like this."

"Would you now?" Sigrun ground her hips against his groin in a slow, steady motion, drawing a stifled gasp from him. "I have a far better plan for tonight."

His witty answer died on his lips when she kissed him, her mouth so sweet and soft on his. As their bodies once more began the familiar dance of love-making, the treasures and legends of the past quickly lost all appeal compared to the pleasures the present had to offer.

* * *

_Big hugs and thanks to heretherebdragons for betaing this chapter for me!  
_


	6. Myths and Memories

**Chapter 6 - Myths and Memories**

Sigrun woke in the middle of the night, unsure of what had disturbed her, until her sharp ears picked up the faintest of sounds, from somewhere beneath their chamber. The unmistakable clinking of armour, the sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor, a muffled scream. She sat up straight, her heart beating wildly.

"What's the matter?" Thorin's hand was heavy on her thigh, warm and reassuring.

"Didn't you hear?" She strained her eyes to see something in the dark, anything, but it was pitch black.

"Hear what?" Thorin listened for a moment, then yawned and pulled her back down. "Must have been a dream." He stroked her hair with a gentle soothing motion. "Go back to sleep, _ghivashuh._"

She almost smiled at the endearment. It was only in unguarded moments like this that he ever slipped into his own language. But there had been a noise, she was sure of it... She huddled up close to him, still listening, but it was all quiet. Soon enough, she fell asleep again.

* * *

They returned to the North Road, having restocked their supplies and mended what was broken. Sigrun remained tense and jumpy until they had left the Keep well behind, only relaxing when its towers had disappeared into the distance. Thorin smiled to himself. It wasn't like her to be scared by a few old stories, but he had kind of enjoyed having the upper hand for once.

It took them another two days to reach the shores of Lake Calenhad. Up here, at its northernmost tip, it didn't look like much, but Voldrik assured them that it was a stunning sight to behold further south, a vast expanse of water, glittering in the sunlight.

"The humans have a legend." The stonemason nodded sagely. "They say King Calenhad Theirin's chain mail was magically forged from the waters of this lake so he would be protected by the very lifeblood of the land of Ferelden."

Dworkin harrumphed contemptuously. "Ha! I would prefer good solid dwarven made steel myself. Who in their right mind would rely on mages?" He spat on the floor, making his opinion of magic users abundantly clear.

They could just about make out the silhouette of the Circle Tower, distant and lonely, its base wrapped in mist. When Voldrik pointed it out, Sigrun shivered. "Poor Anders. Imagine being locked up in a place like this all your life. No wonder he tried to escape again and again."

"Well, he's safe now, with the Commander." Thorin was still flabbergasted by the fact that the mages of Thedas, powerful as they were, allowed others to treat them like this. _Surely if they united against their jailers, it would only be a matter of time until they broke free._ It seemed a dangerous practice to him, locking so many of them in one place, allowing them so little freedom, stoking the fires of their frustration.

"Yeah. He's safe. As long as he stays with the Wardens." Sigrun's face carried a worried frown. "I don't know, Thorin. I had a nice long chat with him before we left, and he said he was considering making a run for the Free Marches. He-"

She broke off, but Thorin didn't urge her on. He knew just as well as she did what was bothering the mage. _Nathaniel_. Not that the archer hadn't been willing enough to flirt with Anders, even spend the occasional night with him. But Nathaniel's heart was clearly taken up elsewhere, and Anders was suffering, more than he usually let on.

"Well, let's hope-" He didn't get any further than that before the blight wolves attacked.

It was a medium-sized pack, six or seven huge shaggy beasts with mad eyes and gaping maws of teeth, the stink of darkspawn corruption unmistakable on their breath. The taint had progressed considerably already and they were visibly weakened, their cadaverous bodies twitching with pain and agitation as they surrounded their small caravan.

"Wargs!" Thorin muttered under his breath, his whole body tensing up as the memories caught up with him. _Azog, seated on a beast just like those, only bigger and more powerful, charging toward him. Huge fangs clenching around his waist, tearing at his flesh, excruciating pain..._

"Thorin!" Sigrun's sharp cry tore him out of his reverie, only moments before the pack leader attacked, hurling itself at him with single-minded focus.

He brought up his shield, bracing for impact. The creature emitted a high-pitched keen as its snout collided hard with the shield's reinforced upper edge, but it recovered immediately and charged again. This time he was ready, though, and the sharp blade of his axe sliced its belly open from throat to crotch, spilling blood and intestines all over the place. Thorin didn't wait for the beast to stop writhing before he focussed his attention on the next.

Sigrun was right next to him, her axe and dirk whirling as she dispatched her own opponent. Voldrik and Dworkin were holding their own quite nicely, swinging their large hammers with relish, but one of the mules went down with a plaintive braying as a wolf dug its teeth into its flanks. Thorin cursed and redoubled his efforts. Three wolves were down, then four. The remaining three circled them slowly, fangs bared and hackles raised.

"I hate wolves." He bared his teeth back at them, snarling at the next beast stepping out of line. The young wolf, barely grown, backed away with a whimper.

Sigrun grinned, her face blood-spattered but her courage undaunted. "Yet you seem to understand them well."

She reached back into her pack for a throwing knife. Her gaze remained firmly fixed on the wolves' movements as she carefully balanced it. Then her hand moved, too fast for Thorin to follow it, and the wolf collapsed soundlessly on the floor, the handle of her knife protruding between its eyes. The other two took one look at it and turned tail, rushing off toward the forest.

Thorin sank down on a boulder, exhaling slowly. There was an ugly, squelching noise as Dworkin put the poor mule out of its misery, grumbling about having to redistribute their packs among the remaining mounts.

Sigrun came over, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You'll have to tell me more about your hatred of wolves."

He nodded tiredly. "Some other time. For now, let's burn the cadavers and get going."

They made camp early that night, exhausted from the day's adventures. When Sigrun crawled into the tent and stretched out next to him, Thorin pulled her close, grateful for her warmth. She ran her fingers tenderly along his bearded jaw, an unspoken question in her eyes. But he found he couldn't speak. Instead he tightened his grip on her and she understood him without the need for words.

Her nimble fingers danced along his body, down to his groin and closed around him, her grip firm and assured. He groaned into her hair, thrusting hard into her hand and she wiggled a little, until she had found the right angle. His hips seemed to move almost of their own accord, quick and jerky, eager for her touch. She didn't play with him, didn't even try to be subtle, just held him tight and warm, her lips light and gentle against his temple, until he shattered in her hand, his cry of release muffled by her kiss. He felt embarrassed afterward, like an awkward youth spilling his seed at the first touch of a woman, but she held him, muttering soft endearments, refusing to let him return the favour. Within moments, exhaustion overtook him, black and heavy and he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

They progressed more slowly after the attack, their mules overburdened and more obstinate than usual, no matter how much Dworkin coaxed and cajoled them on. Even so it was only a few more days until they left the Imperial Highway and made their way up Gherlen's Pass. They had barely even grazed the lower reaches of the Frostback Mountains, but the going got considerably tougher. The mountain air was fresh and brisk, though, and the prospect of arriving at their goal soon put an extra spring in their step.

It was early evening when they finally reached the surface entrance to the dwarven capital. Thorin looked up at the big gate straddling their path with mixed feelings. It was clearly built to impress, two massive stone pillars carrying a delicate wrought-iron framework, as fine an example of dwarven craft as he had ever seen. Yet the effect was rather spoilt by the ragged shanty-town that had sprung up behind it, a random accumulation of traders and travellers, waiting to be admitted through the large gate set into the face of the mountain.

It was a daunting sight, that giant pair of doors, made from solid steel, a sweeping flight of stairs leading up to them. There would be no waiting for them, though. The guard glanced only briefly at their credentials before he stepped back, motioning respectfully for them to step through.

They entered a long hall, its high ceiling supported by slim pillars, with statues of dwarves in a wide variety of costumes and poses placed along its length at strategic intervals.

"The Hall of Heroes," Voldrik muttered as they advanced through it. "Those are the Paragons of our people, our revered ancestors. Look, this one is Bemot, the founder of one of our most influential noble families. They're closely related to House Aeducan."

_The ruling house. _Thorin nodded.

"And this is Garal." Voldrik pointed to the statue of a bearded dwarf, lifting a massive hammer with both hands. "He's the king who made Orzammar our capital."

"Why is it called Orzammar? What does the name mean?" Thorin asked absent-mindedly.

They were nearing the end of the hall now, where another gateway awaited them. Their guide signalled for them to wait a moment while he talked to the guard posted there.

"Oh, I know the answer to this one!" Sigrun grinned proudly. "My aunt used to tell me stories about Orzammar the miner. He was one of the seven founders of the dwarven empire." She beamed at Voldrik. "Isn't that right?"

The older dwarf smiled indulgently, but before he could answer, Thorin raised his hand, a pensive frown on his face. "Seven founders. That is curious."

"Why?" Sigrun looked at him in confusion. "That's what the legend says."

"It's just..." Thorin took a deep breath. "In my world the legends tell of seven fathers of the dwarves too. They were created by Aulë, the Smith, and all the clans trace their heritage back to them. I used to belong to Durin's folk." Unconsciously, he rubbed his beard. "It's a weird coincidence, that's all."

Sigrun shrugged. "Not all that surprising, though. Everyone knows dwarves always come in batches of seven."

Thorin looked at her with incomprehension and she sighed, rolling her eyes at him. "Don't they have nursery tales in your world?"

He was spared an answer by the return of their guide. Once more, a gate opened in front of them and they followed him through. Try as he might to appear unfazed, Thorin couldn't quite hold back a gasp at the sight that awaited them.

A vast cavern, illuminated by the warm glow of a lake of molten lava. In the middle of it the city rose, arranged in circular tiers around a central pillar, with rows upon rows of houses, hewn from the stone. Wide avenues, paved with flat flagstones connected the different quarters, gracefully arched bridges spanned channels and pools of lava, steep stairs led up and down to further levels.

"This district is called the Commons." A series of vivid emotions were chasing each other across Sigrun's face. Joy, wistfulness, disgust. "Dust Town is all the way down, near the entrances to the mines. But they'll probably take us up to the Diamond Quarter. After all, you're a visitor of importance."

Thorin took her hand and squeezed it hard, but he remained silent, almost overwhelmed by the cacophony of voices around them. There were dwarves everywhere, chatting, quarrelling, laughing, going about their daily business. Smiths and merchants, guards and artisans, dainty noblewomen and gossiping servants. More dwarves than he had seen since he had come to Thedas. Blight it, he couldn't even recall the last time he had seen so many dwarves in one place. Probably back before the Lonely Mountain fell.

It was a bustling place, chaotic and very much alive, practically begging for someone to take charge. Thorin instinctively straightened his spine, pulling himself up to his full height.

They had reached their destination.

Orzammar.

* * *

_A great big thank you to heretherebdragons for betaing this!  
_

_For those of you who would like to read more about Nate, Megan and Carver (since we're moving on to Orzammar now and they will disappear from this story for a while) - I've written a couple of one shots and shorts which for various reasons I'm going to post only on AO3. I'm hot_elf there too, so they should be easy to find ;)._


	7. Esteemed Guests

**Chapter 7 - Esteemed Guests**

While they were waiting for the king's representative to show up, people were eager to offer them seats and snacks, regarding the visitors with barely hidden curiosity. There were definite advantages to being part of an ambassador's entourage, Sigrun mused as she looked around. Orzammar hadn't changed much since she'd left. Some familiar buildings were gone, replaced by more spacious new structures, but for the most part she could have still found her way around in the dark. _If I were so inclined._ She bit back a cynical grin.

"Your Excellency." A dwarf in expensive ceremonial armour with neatly trimmed dark hair and beard walked up to Thorin, bowing deeply. "_Atrast vala._ I am Vartag Gavorn. King Bhelen asked me to welcome you to Orzammar. We are honoured to have a Grey Warden in our midst. Know that the dwarves of Orzammar have nothing but the highest respect for your noble order."

Thorin inclined his head regally. "Thank you, my lord. But I'm not the only Grey Warden who has come to Orzammar." He indicated Sigrun with a small gesture.

Gavorn turned to face her, his polite smile freezing in place when he noticed her Duster tattoos. He caught himself quickly, though. "My lady Warden. Welcome to Orzammar."

"Just Sigrun will do." She grinned back, enjoying his discomfiture. "It's nice to be back."

He nodded stiffly. "I'll take you to your lodgings first. King Bhelen is impatient to meet you, but I'm sure you'll want to refresh yourself before being introduced to him."

Leading the way, he escorted them to the gates of the Diamond Quarter, then through several streets filled with nobles going about their daily business. There was less overt staring here than in the Commons, but Sigrun felt their eyes upon her back the moment she walked past anyone. She decided to ignore the scandalized looks, though, focussing instead on the splendour surrounding them. Back in her Duster days, she'd rarely come to this part of town, and never during daytime. She remembered a few rather dicey break-ins, contract work mostly, looking for a specific trinket or compromising papers. It was a weird feeling, walking openly through these streets with all the lights on. She felt kind of exposed.

Gavorn stopped in front of a large townhouse within walking distance of the Royal Palace. It looked to be of fairly recent construction, not more than a few hundred years old at the most, and its facade was decorated in a quietly tasteful manner.

"Your residence." Gavorn indicated the heavy iron door. "There are offices and quarters for your entourage downstairs, and a large suite for your convenience on the first floor. I assume the lady Sigrun will be joining you there?"

Thorin's face gave nothing away. "You assume correctly."

At a gesture from Gavorn, their luggage was carried inside.

Inside, their guide bowed again, his expression slightly pinched. "I shall come back in an hour or so to take you to his Majesty. Let me know if there is anything you need."

Thorin dismissed him with a nod and smiled at Sigrun. "Join me upstairs."

"You bet." She felt a curious surge of excitement, almost giddiness. "I'm dying to see our quarters. I've never had a _suite _before."

Voldrik and Dworkin were already busy exploring the ground floor. Sigrun followed Thorin up the wide, sweeping staircase, running her hand tentatively along the marble banister. Their suite turned out to consist of a large living room, a dining room, two bedrooms, a study and a private bathroom. The view of the city through the large windows was spectacular.

"Maker's mercy." Sigrun whistled through her teeth. "There's enough room for all the Wardens in Ferelden in here."

Thorin nodded. "Bhelen is definitely aiming to please. Or to impress."

"Probably the latter, from what I've heard about him." Sigrun stretched, trying to work the kinks out of her neck. The large bed in the master bedroom looked comfortable and inviting and she was sore and tired from the journey. "Well, I'm not going to complain. Though we might have to hire extra servants."

They quickly changed into their official Warden uniforms. There wasn't enough time for a proper bath and Sigrun eyed the large marble tub with no small measure of regret. _Later_. But Maker, Thorin looked good in the blue and silver ceremonial armour Megan had commissioned for him! The colour brought out the blue of his eyes in a way that made her throat go dry. _Again, later. _

She sighed and Thorin took her hand, a smile crinkling the corners of this eyes. "Come on. It doesn't do to keep a king waiting."

Gavorn was already expecting them downstairs. Sigrun shifted uncomfortably as she realized where she was about to go. The Royal Palace. An audience with the king. _So what?_ A small voice sneered inside her head. _Bhelen is a man like any other. He eats, he shits, he fucks his pretty Dust Town concubine._ There was a thought. She was definitely not the first Duster to have made it into the Royal Palace.

Her ruminations kept her busy, so much so that their arrival in the throne room almost took her by surprise. The room was impressively large, with a raised dais at one end on which Bhelen sat enthroned. The king was a handsome, powerfully built dwarf with a flowing red beard and small, cunning eyes.

As they approached him, he rose from his chair and walked down the stairs to meet them. Another carefully calculated gesture, no doubt, but when he realized that Thorin's height would force him to tilt his head to look up, his eyes narrowed even further. He obviously hadn't expected the new ambassador to be quite so tall. Fortunately Thorin was quick to pick up on the reason for the king's ill-humour and gracefully bent his knee.

"Your Majesty." Thorin's deep voice easily reached the farthest corner of the room. Everyone turned as one to observe the newcomers.

"Esteemed Wardens." Bhelen smiled jovially. "You are very welcome to my kingdom."

Thorin nodded gravely. "Warden Commander Cousland asked me to convey her most respectful and heartfelt greetings to you, your Majesty. She said she would never forget the time she spent in Orzammar, nor the bonds that were forged during those weeks."

Bhelen's smile widened, but his eyes remained cold and calculating. "And neither shall I. The Grey Wardens have always stood at our side against the threat of a Blight. Let us hope your presence will make our ties grow even stronger."

"That is our wish as well." Thorin nodded gravely. "We Wardens are well aware of your people's struggles against the darkspawn threat. Should any of your subjects feel a desire to join our order, we would welcome them with open arms."

The king raised an eyebrow. "We will have to talk more about this at a later time, Lord Thorin. But for now, let's leave those weighty matters aside. I am eager for more news about your Commander. Join me and tell me more about how she is faring these days."

Thorin rose, bowing deeply, and Bhelen motioned for him to take a seat next to the throne on the dais. The rest of the audience passed in a blur, and soon they were escorted back to their residence. When the door closed behind them, Sigrun exhaled deeply.

"Maker, I'm glad that's over." She walked over to Thorin, resting her head against his shoulder. "And much as I like that armour on you, I can't wait to get it off you and try out that lovely big tub."

Thorin laughed, a deep, rumbling chuckle that sent shivers down her spine. "You go first."

With a little help from her, he soon figured out how to work the gilded faucets, watching in awe as the tub began to fill with steaming hot water. She was almost beginning to fear he would appreciate the intricacy of the plumbing more than her company.

But then he stepped back and watched with single-minded concentration as she took off her armour and underclothes piece by piece, lingering a little longer than necessary on her smalls. His eyes grew darker with each garment and when she slid into the perfumed water with a long happy sigh, his eyes were glued to her naked breasts, bobbing pertly on the surface.

"You look... very tempting like this." His voice was almost a caress in itself.

He peeled off his own armour quickly. Closing her eyes, Sigrun arched up voluptuously, smiling to herself when she heard his answering growl. When she looked up again, he had just shed his last piece of clothing. _I am a very lucky lady._ Sigrun unconsciously licked her lips at the sight of him, all hard muscle and powerful arms and legs, his hair spreading behind him in the water as he joined her in the tub.

"Come here." She motioned for him to sit between her outstretched legs, with his back to her, and when he complied she let her hands run through his dark mane. "Let me wash your hair for you."

He leant back into her touch with a small moan of enjoyment as she carefully lathered up his flowing curls, massaging his scalp gently with her nimble fingers. His hair was thick and luscious and she thoroughly enjoyed the task. When she finished, her hands trailed deeper, smoothing down his chest hair and pausing for a moment on the familiar jagged scars covering his abdomen.

"You never told me where you got those." She had spoken on impulse, and she almost regretted it when his face darkened.

"A _warg_. A kind of large wolf," he elaborated when he realized she didn't know the word. "It got pretty close to killing me."

She nodded, tracing the scars softly with her fingertips until she felt the tension in his body lessen again. Only then did she let her hands wander even deeper, aiming for a different kind of tension. When she took hold of him, her hands slippery with soap, he groaned, pushing himself into her grip.

But when she started to stroke him, he shook his head and turned, pulling her close. "Let's get out of here. If I remember correctly, messing around in the water is more trouble than it's worth."

"It has its charms." She grinned, but didn't object when he pushed himself up on his arms out of the water.

Little droplets were glistening on his arms and chest as he got out and walked over to the towel rack, picking one for himself and one for her. When he wrapped her into the warm, soft fabric, she leaned back against him with a happy little noise.

"Bed." He didn't waste any more words, just picked her up and carried her over to the large four-poster in the adjoining room.

With exquisite gentleness, he lowered her onto the soft mattress and proceeded to dry her off carefully, inch by inch. Sigrun stretched like a cat, enjoying every moment of it. A Warden's life was seldom about luxuries, and she revelled in them, the lush texture of the towel and sheets, the warmth of the fire in the hearth, its spicy, earthy scent pervading the room. And of course Thorin's hands on her body, strong and hot, and surprisingly soft from their bath. It was sheer bliss, and her body felt heavier by the minute, all the aches and pains and tensions gone, warm and boneless.

She would have fallen asleep, had Thorin's touches not begun to take on an entirely different quality, teasing her nipples, insistently stroking up her thighs, until all the warmth focussed between her legs, heavy and pulsing. When it became almost too much to bear, she sat up, pushing against his shoulder to make him topple back, and began to return the favour.

Thorin's eyes were closed and his breath quickened as she ran her small hands down his chest, then further across his taut stomach and along that delicious groove where his legs met his torso, her favourite part of his body. _Well, maybe not the only favourite..._ His cock was hard already, proudly jutting out from its nest of dark curls. Unconsciously she licked her lips as she let her hands wander closer, doubling back just before she reached him, then repeated the procedure from the other side.

Normally he would have grabbed her at this point, growling his impatience, but the bath seemed to have relaxed him as well and he kept still, abandoning himself fully to her caresses, a slight shiver along his powerful frame all that indicated how much her touch affected him. It was a lovely sight, his body laid out for her to enjoy, not a trace of shame or reserve in him. Tonight he was all hers.

The pulse between her legs quickened and she realized she was getting past the point where she'd be content just to look at him and touch him. She wanted him, craved him, needed him to join with her, now.

As if he had read her mind, his eyes opened and he smiled at her, a smile full of tenderness and love, nothing held back. "Come here."

With slow, unhurried movements, he pulled her closer and made her lie down next to him, then turned onto his side, so he was spooning her body with his. His hand leisurely wandered down to her hips, gently lifting her upper thigh and opening her up a little so he could slide inside her from behind, inch by careful inch. When he was finally fully lodged inside her, he took a shaking breath and pulled her even closer to him, burying his face in her damp hair.

He was as close as he could get, deep, deep inside her, part of her, the feeling so intense that she hardly dared breathe. Sigrun closed her eyes, taking hold of his hand that was cupping her breast, pressing it tightly. A bright, warm light was beginning to spread all through her body, starting somewhere deep inside her, and it took her a moment to recognize it for what it was: sheer, pure happiness. This was anything she could ever have wanted from life. Being in his arms, basking in his love, this was as good as it got. For what seemed like an eternity they lay like this, clinging to each other, lost in this single, perfect moment.

Eventually he did move, small, shallow thrusts that kept her on the edge for what seemed like hours, refusing to be rushed. When she finally did come, it was a tingling sensation, flowing all through her body in a single, uninterrupted stream, down into her very fingertips, sweet and poignant. He followed her soon, muttering endearments into her ears, his fists clenching helplessly as the same sweet ecstasy overtook him.

He fell asleep as soon as they had parted. Sigrun caressed his sleeping face affectionately, but found she couldn't join him yet. She disentangled herself from his arms and walked over to the large window front overlooking Orzammar. It was a glorious sight from up here, the massive stone buildings illuminated by flows of lava, its red shine lending them an unearthly beauty. She had never realized just how beautiful the city was, how timeless, how breathtaking. Was this home?

Turning back to see Thorin stretched out on their bed, Sigrun shook her head. No. Home wasn't a place, not even this one, no matter how many old memories it brought back. Home was where she was loved, where she felt safe. From now on and until the end of her days, her home would be with him.

* * *

_Many thanks to heretherebdragons, who once again made sure I keep track of everything ;).  
_


	8. Consorts and Concubines

**Chapter 8 - Consorts and Concubines**

Breakfast was served in the dining room of their suite, and it was lavish, including not just bread, butter and assorted spreads, but all manner of hot and cold dishes, arranged on a sideboard – far more food than the two of them could hope to eat. Thorin filled his plate with fried eggs and something that looked and smelled like bacon but tasted subtly different.

"Nug bacon," Sigrun explained when she saw the puzzled expression on his face as he was chewing. "Remember those little animals we saw in the Commons? They are quite tasty, aren't they?"

Thorin nodded absent-mindedly. He couldn't help but wonder if all dwarven nobles ate like this. Maybe it was just a show put on by Bhelen to impress his Warden guests. Thorin would ask the steward about this, he decided, with a glance at the plates piled high on the sideboard. Both he and Sigrun had big appetites, but this was over the top. There was no need to let all those delicacies go to waste on a regular basis.

A servant announcing a visitor tore him out of his musings. He hadn't expected anyone to show up at their residence so shortly after their arrival, but both politeness and curiosity prompted him to find out who it could be. At his gesture, the servant disappeared with an eager bow.

"Runa? Is this really you, darling?" A finely dressed dwarven lady appeared in the open doorway. Her long blond hair was delicately braided and she was carefully made-up to conceal most of the duster tattoo on her cheek.

"Lil!" Sigrun beamed from ear to ear as she jumped up and pulled the petite blond dwarf into a bear hug. "By the Stone, you look so pretty!"

"And you..." The woman's lip quivered. "I never thought I'd see you again, _salroka_. I thought you were dead. Or worse."

"I'm very much alive!" Sigrun turned to face Thorin. "Thorin! Meet my old friend Lilja. We practically grew up together, down in Dust Town. Her family took me in after my mother died."

Thorin nodded gravely at Lilja, and she smiled back, fluttering her eyelashes as if it were habit. "Sigrun! Who is this? And where did you find him?" Her openly appraising glance left Thorin vaguely uncomfortable. "My, my. What a very, very fine fellow. You've always had such good taste in men." She smiled a wide, cat-like smile. "Maybe we could... But you were never one for sharing, were you, Runa?"

Thorin nearly choked on his tea. Had she really just suggested...? He was torn between shocked disapproval and some decidedly less lofty feelings. There was no denying that Lilja was very beautiful, and the images her words conjured up were enough to send a flash of heat to his groin.

To his surprise, Sigrun didn't seem offended but just grinned proudly. "Exactly. Besides, I know you, Lil. You are far too clever to endanger your current position with such an adventure." She ran a finger along the gold embroidery on Lilja's dress. "You seem to have done well for yourself. Who is the lucky fellow?"

Lilja rolled her eyes. "Old Ragnar Vollney. I've borne him two sons, but the way things are looking lately, there won't be any more." She made a quick, obscene gesture that made Thorin blush. "But he's a kind old soul and he takes good care of me. And he leaves me to my own devices most of the time. It's not too bad."

Thorin cleared his throat. "So you are..."

"A noble hunter, yes." Lilja grinned, clearly amused by his embarrassment. "Back when Sigrun left, I was still scraping a living in Dust Town, hoping for some noble to put a baby in my belly." She turned back to her friend. "Oh, Runa, I can't believe it's really you. Just think what Mother will say! And Ulf!"

"Ulf?" Thorin raised a questioning eyebrow at Sigrun.

"Lilja's brother." Sigrun smiled fondly, lost in memories. "We used to be close." When she noticed Thorin's grim silence, she flashed him a quick, embarrassed grin. "But that was ages ago. He's probably happily married with a bunch of kids by now."

Lilja shook her head. "He's never been able to forget you. He even talked about joining the Legion himself, going out to find you, but Mother wouldn't have it."

Thorin's frown deepened. Lilja looked back and forth between the two of them, obviously enjoying the developing drama. "Uh-oh. I'd better leave you two alone to talk this out. Care to meet for a game of Diamondback some other night, sweetheart?"

"I will try, but I really can't make any promises." Sigrun shrugged apologetically. "We'll probably be fully taken up with official appointments. But we'll see."

Lilja smiled, not at all taken aback. "You'll be here for some time, darling. And Runa..." Her face grew serious. "Be careful. King Bhelen didn't get where he is by sweet talk. If he should ever consider you a threat..."

"I'll keep that in mind. Thank you." Sigrun embraced her friend again.

As soon as Lilja left, Sigrun busied herself at the buffet, chattering on in a light tone. "I really don't recommend playing cards with Lil, you know. She'd probably strip you clean and leave you naked in the street."

"It doesn't seem as if she would need an excuse for that." Thorin failed to keep the growl out of his voice. "Really, I can't imagine you were ever friends with that woman. She's little more than a-"

"Don't!" Sigrun's shoulders tensed visibly. "A noble hunter never charges money. And even if she did..." She turned to face him, sounding more agitated than he'd ever heard her. "We were duster girls. We didn't have the luxury of your high moral standards. Lilja survived by accepting lavish gifts from her noble suitors and I-" She broke off.

Thorin swallowed. What did he really know of her past, of the things she'd done to survive? Back at Vigil's Keep, it hadn't really meant a thing when she had told him she was a girl from the slums. She had been Sigrun, pretty, pert and sweet, and her past had been of little consequence. But now it was beginning to dawn on him that she might well have been a whore or a thief. Or worse. Would he be able to live with that knowledge? Did he even dare ask?

He opened his mouth to speak, when there was a knock at the door.

"Come in!" Thorin hardly recognized his own voice, hoarse and strained.

Vartag Gavorn stepped over the threshold. "Your Excellency? Would you kindly follow me to the Assembly Chamber? The King has requested your presence for this morning's Assembly. Just you," he added with a perfunctory bow in Sigrun's direction.

Thorin ground his teeth in frustration. "Of course. Just give me a moment." As Vartag withdrew, his features carefully bland, Thorin took Sigrun's hand between his. "I'm sorry, love. We'll talk later."

She nodded curtly, but didn't reply. There was a far-away look in her eyes.

* * *

Sigrun sat back with a sigh, dropping her book on a small table. It had been a long, boring day, and she was tired of reading. She had spent the morning with Voldrik and Dworkin, setting up their temporary workshops in the courtyard behind the house, in the silent hope that Dworkin wouldn't blow the whole mansion up with his experiments.

She had hoped Thorin would be back for lunch, but there'd been no sign of him, so she had joined the others down in the kitchen and then gone up to the suite she shared with her lover. By the time the town-criers announced the end of the day, her armour was spanking clean and all her knives and poisons in impeccable order.

When she finally heard Thorin at the door, she jumped up to meet him. He looked tired and worn-out.

"By Aulë's hammer, I've had enough of nobles and deshyrs to last me a lifetime." He sighed deeply as he began to take off the heavy ceremonial mail. "Bhelen seemed intent on introducing me to every single one of them."

She made a face. "Orzammar's finest, eh? No wonder you are so testy."

"I'm not testy!" He cursed as a buckle refused to give. "Just tired. And I wish I'd told Megan to find someone else to do this job."

"That bad?" She tried to sound sympathetic, but his bad mood was beginning to wear off on her. Her day hadn't exactly been exciting either. "Any names you recall? I'm hardly an expert on Orzammar's nobility, but maybe I can come up with some useful background knowledge."

Thorin waved his hand dismissively. "There were so many of them. Lord Bemot, Lady Dace, Lord Meino... Ragnar Vollney was there too. Your friend Lilja's... patron."

Sigrun chewed her lip thoughtfully. "House Vollney... They are not so bad, I guess. Less stuck up than many others. I met one of them, Varlan, when I was in the Legion. He was a friend, of sorts. When he died-" She shook off the memory, making a face. "I've no idea what Ragnar is like, though. Anyway, from what Lilja said, he's too old to be a deshyr."

Thorin nodded. "The representative for House Vollney was a younger man. I didn't quite catch his name. Darvak? Darvanak? Not sure." He sighed. "About your friend, though..."

Sigrun raised her chin. If he couldn't let go of this, she was determined to have it out. "Yes?"

There was another knock on the door. "What is it now?" Thorin failed miserably at keeping the irritation out of his voice.

The young, liveried servant bowed deeply. "King Bhelen and the Lady Rica invite you and your... companion to their private chambers for an informal evening of entertainment, your Excellency."

Thorin threw her an exasperated glance. Sigrun shrugged. It was not the sort of invitation you could decline, even she knew that. She was surprised to be included in it, though. "We'll be on our way shortly."

* * *

They were escorted to a cosy little suite at the back of the Royal Palace, far less magnificent than the throne room, but a lot more comfortable, with well-upholstered furniture in bright and cheerful colours. Rica's domain, it seemed.

King Bhelen greeted them with a jovial smile, waving aside all formalities. "No need to stand on ceremony here, my dear Wardens. I want you to enjoy the evening."

Thorin sighed inwardly. He would have much preferred to stay in their own quarters and make an effort to overcome the distance that had sprung up between him and Sigrun since last night. He glanced at her. She seemed determined to make the best of this evening, chatting pleasantly with Rica who had put down her string harp to come and greet them as well.

King Bhelen's concubine was a stunningly beautiful woman. Her fiery red hair flowed down her back, gleaming like a river of molten lava when it caught the light. She had lovely eyes too, green and expressive. And she was an accomplished hostess, making sure they were properly seated and provided with drinks in no time at all.

"Grey Wardens! You must lead such exciting lives." Her voice was warm and agreeable. "I'm sure my little Endrin would love to hear some of your stories."

A cute red-haired little boy was playing with a toy bronto on a rug before the fireplace. At her words he looked up with a hopeful smile.

Sigrun got down on her knees next to him and smiled back. "Prince Endrin! I bet you're going to be a great warrior when you grow up. Would you like me to tell you a story?"

The boy nodded eagerly. Thorin watched with affection as Sigrun launched into a heavily bowdlerized version of their last adventure on patrol.

Bhelen had observed the scene with obvious pride. Now he sat down opposite Thorin at the large table, reaching for his own jug of lichen ale. Thorin nipped cautiously. Sigrun had warned him that the king's preferred drink was stronger than surfacer fare. He had no doubt he could take it, but it never hurt to be careful.

"You've ruffled quite a few feathers by bringing her to the Diamond Quarter and parading her around in the streets, you know." With a careless motion of his tankard Bhelen indicated Sigrun, who was gesticulating wildly as she described an ogre. "Even if she is a very charming young lady indeed." He winked conspiratorially at Thorin. "Look, personally I don't blame you. I'm hardly in a position to lecture. After all, I've lost my own heart to a lovely duster girl."

Thorin found it hard to control the impulse to answer this appropriately. _There's a world of difference here, you old rake! Sigrun means far more to me than you would ever understand._ But of course he couldn't say any of this aloud. He took a deep breath. "Sigrun is a Warden, just like me. Her past is no longer relevant."

"Oh, but it is, at least here in Orzammar." Bhelen's eyes suddenly turned clear and cold, the jovial mask dropping in a heartbeat as he leant forward over the table and fixed Thorin with a piercing stare. "Is it true that she used to be a member of the Legion of the Dead? Such a pity, to have to embrace death at such a young age."

"What of it?" Thorin took care to keep his voice perfectly level. "As I said, she is a Warden now. As far as I'm concerned, she's alive and well."

Bhelen spread his hands with an exaggerated shrug. "An understandable attitude, considering the tenets of your order. Yet... There are many here in this city who would feel offended that she has chosen to evade an honourable death."

Thorin forced himself to hold the king's gaze steadily. "Postpone rather than evade, wouldn't you say, your Majesty? What remains of her life is dedicated to fighting darkspawn, no matter what."

There was a long moment of silence before Bhelen began to chuckle softly. "Indeed, indeed, my dear Warden. You will all die in the Deep Roads, sooner or later." He threw his head back and guffawed, as if he'd made a particularly funny remark. "Come on. Let's drink to your final sacrifice!"

Thorin just barely resisted the urge to kick back his chair and leave. Instead, he took a deep breath and raised his tankard. "To sacrifice! Ours and your people's!"

Bhelen nodded vigorously. "I'll drink to that."

By the time they returned to their quarters and sank into their bed, Thorin's head was spinning with exhaustion. All he wanted was sleep, a chance to sort out all the new impressions and to gather his wits again.

"Voldrik wants to take the tablets to the Shaperate tomorrow." Sigrun yawned at his side.

"Oh, blight it, I had completely forgotten about that. Is it really that important?" Thorin winced as he stretched his neck.

"What do you mean?" Sigrun's voice had taken on an icy tone. "Of course it is. Well, maybe not from a _noble_ perspective."

"Oh please. Why do you always have to misconstrue everything I say?" Maker, he was so tired. Why couldn't she-

"It's hardly something I do on a regular basis." Sigrun's eyes were flashing with anger now. "Whereas you-"

"Can we stop this now?" It came out far more abrupt than he had intended.

Sigrun's lips tightened and she turned away from him with a shrug, extinguishing her lamp. The room became pitch dark.

"Sigrun?" There was no answer. With a sigh, Thorin lay back. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

* * *

_Big hugs and thanks to heretherebdragons for her suggestions on how to make this better.  
_


	9. Beneath Notice

**Chapter 9 - Beneath Notice **

As soon as she opened her eyes the memory was back, together with an ear-splitting headache. Sigrun almost whimpered when the bright light of morning sent a lance of pain through her skull. They had quarrelled, Thorin and her. And what a singularly stupid quarrel it had been. Carefully she rolled over on her side to find Thorin, but he had already gotten up. Well, _he_ had slept like a log last night, while she had lain awake, repeating his words and hers in her head over and over again, trying in vain to sort out who had started it.

Sigrun threw the coverlet back with a resigned sigh and reached for a mild healing potion. If she was honest, it didn't really matter. They had both been tired and irritable and hadn't meant half of what they'd said.

But what if he had meant it? What if he'd spoken the truth in an unguarded moment? Did he really think the fate of the casteless of Kal'Hirol was unimportant, a mere historical footnote? Her lips settled in a thin line. No matter what Thorin said, they would go to the Shaperate today.

As she had expected, Voldrik was eager to go, and even Dworkin put on some semblance of a smile when they set out. Thorin had said little when she had repeated her reminder at breakfast, but he had nodded his assent. Fortunately Vartag Gavorn hadn't shown up or sent a message, so they were free to go as soon as they pleased.

The Shaperate wasn't actually far from their house, just past the Assembly Chamber, in an ancient, venerable building, probably as old as the city itself. The Shaper at the door greeted them with a deep, respectful bow.

"Your Excellency. You honour us with your visit." He addressed himself exclusively to Thorin, eyeing Sigrun with considerable distrust. "If you will follow me, I will take you to the Lord Shaper himself."

They followed him toward the far end of the room. The place was much as Thorin had expected, rows upon rows of bookshelves lining the walls, silent scribes scuttling about on some mysterious business or other, the musty smell of old paper filling the air.

The Lord Shaper Czibor was deep in conversation with one of his senior assistants. As soon as he saw them coming, he waved her away and opened his arms in a welcoming gesture, a smile on his wrinkled old face. "Lord Thorin. It is an unexpected pleasure to see you here in this place of memories. It fills my old heart with joy to learn that you take an interest in our noble history."

Thorin nodded gravely. "Your task is a worthy one, Lord Shaper. Please be assured of my highest respect for your work."

The old man stroked his flowing white beard with a satisfied smile. "You honour me, Lord Thorin. Maybe you would like to tour our archives? We have a veritable wealth of ancient manuscripts for you to peruse, and of course I could look out for anything pertaining to your noble family-"

"My family..." Thorin coughed delicately. "I would greatly prefer not to talk about them, Lord Shaper. My great-grandfather didn't leave Orzammar voluntarily, you understand, and he wouldn't wish for the family name to be dragged to the light again."

"Of course." The Shaper had the grace to look embarrassed. "I didn't mean to-"

"I'm sure you didn't." Thorin cut him off with a regal smile. "However, there's another matter that I would like to bring to your attention."

He motioned for Voldrik to come to the front with the heavy stone tablets he was carrying. "Warden Commander Cousland sends her regards, my lord, and asks you respectfully to record the information she has found in the ruins of Kal'Hirol."

"Commander Cousland!" The old man's face brightened. "But of course. She found some fascinating records for me when she was here, you know. Such an amazingly resourceful young lady, and so respectful and modest."

Thorin had to hide his amusement behind a sudden fit of coughing. It seemed Megan had played her part well when she had met with the Lord Shaper. Much as he respected and admired the Commander, he would hardly have described her as "modest". But the old man's fond memories would serve him well now, or so he hoped.

Voldrik put the tablets down on the Lord Shaper's desk with utmost care, removing the wrappings. Thorin added Dailan's tattered old journal, then stepped back to let the Lord Shaper take a look. He was dismayed to see the old man's eager smile turn into a frown after a few pages, though.

"What is this about, Lord Thorin? Would you mind giving me a quick summary of this?" Yes, there was a definite undertone of irritation in the Lord Shaper's brittle voice.

"These records prove beyond the shadow of a doubt that the casteless of Kal'Hirol sacrificed themselves in a heroic effort to hold back the darkspawn army, thus buying their fellow citizens enough time to reach the safety of Orzammar. Their names ought to be recorded for posterity, so their noble deed won't be forgotten." Thorin kept his voice calm and steady.

The Lord Shaper took his time answering, humming and hawing, before he would finally meet Thorin's eyes. "The casteless of Kal'Hirol, you say... Well, this is a conundrum, my lord." He sniffled, throwing a quick, sideways glance at Sigrun. "You see, the Shaperate doesn't normally record anything related to those unfortunate ones. Our task is to preserve anything worthy of notice, and the casteless-"

There was no mistaking the tiny frustrated huff coming from Sigrun's lips. Behind her, Voldrik could be heard grinding his teeth in silent anger.

"Are you implying that a sacrifice such as this is not worthy of notice?" Thorin allowed his voice to take on a definite edge. "May I direct your attention to this journal, my lord? It belonged to a noble named Dailan who died defending the city. Let me quote his last words to you. _To call them "casteless" would be a mistake. Their sacrifice must not be forgotten._"

The Lord Shaper was getting visibly uncomfortable. "Of course, of course. Still, many among us would be aghast at the mere idea of casteless bearing arms, no matter how noble the cause."

"But didn't King Bhelen himself allow the casteless to take up arms against the darkspawn?" Thorin wasn't about to let any advantage go to waste, tiny as it might be. "Surely, if the king himself could avail himself of their help during the Blight..."

"Yes, yes, that is very true." The Lord Shaper was obviously running out of arguments. "Still, you will understand that I can't make such a far-reaching decision without consulting with a few of my colleagues."

"You can't?" Thorin raised a surprised eyebrow. "It was my impression that your word is law here, my Lord Shaper. But of course I am an outsider and I might have misunderstood."

"You most certainly haven't." The old man raised himself to his full height, shaking with indignation. "No one here will question my authority." He took a deep breath, appearing to come to a decision. "So be it, then. We will add the names of these dwarves to the Memories. And it shall be recorded that your Commander reclaimed the history of the last days of Kal'Hirol for us."

"I am sure she will be honoured to hear that." Thorin did his best to hide his triumph.

Next to him, Sigrun wasn't quite as successful in hiding her feelings, and the Lord Shaper glanced at her sharply when she muttered a few colourful curses under her breath. _I'd better distract him before he changes his mind. _"Now, you mentioned a tour around the archives. Maybe you could show me around while your scribes record the names?"

* * *

They left the Shaperate a few hours after noon and took a walk down to the Commons. The whole affair had taken far longer than Thorin had expected, and he was feeling thirsty after spending hours in the dry air of the archive. "Is there any place we can get a drink here?" He looked around searchingly.

"Of course." Voldrik beamed happily. "Tapster's Tavern used to be my favourite haunt when I was a young dwarf. Let's head there. It's not far."

The tavern was obviously popular, with a fair number of patrons even at this early hour. It was a pleasant enough place, with a good selection of ales and meads and a cosy, laid-back atmosphere. Just what they needed after a morning spent among dusty old records and arrogant scribes.

With a heartfelt sigh, Thorin leant against the counter and signalled to the barkeep. "A round of your best brew for myself and my companions, good woman."

The tiny redhead shook her head, pointing at Sigrun with a moue of distaste. "No drinks for dusters, that's the rule. Sorry."

"What do you mean?" Thorin's patience was wearing thin. He'd had just about enough of this topic to last him a lifetime. "She is a Grey Warden, and your stupid rules no longer apply to her. Now bring us some ale!"

"Ah, no, I can't do that, my lord. The rules are the rules, you know." The woman's face wore a stubborn expression.

"Do you have any idea who you are talking to, you wretch?" Voldrik was bristling with righteous indignation. "This is Thorin Oakenshield, the Warden Ambassador to Orzammar."

The barkeep shook her head sadly. "I am sorry, my lord. But my answer would be the same if you were Lord Gavorn himself. We have our principles, and we don't serve the casteless here. Wouldn't want to drive away the-"

A deep silky voice cut her off mid-sentence. "You will serve this one. She's an old friend of mine. And make sure you get them the Valenta's. Nothing but the best for my friends."

The voice belonged to a young dwarf of no more than medium height but with wide, strong shoulders. He was strikingly handsome, though his nose appeared to have been broken at least once. His beard was neatly trimmed and his blond hair cut short enough to stand up in thick, upright spikes around his tattooed face. Despite being a duster, he was obviously not poor, for he wore a fine dark leather armour studded with metal and he was well armed.

The barkeep blanched and bowed. "Of course. A round of Valenta's Red. My lords, my... lady."

She bustled off to fill their tankards. The newcomer leaned against the counter with a wide grin, his cool grey eyes examining Sigrun from head to toe. "Runa, honey. You look good. Are you happy to see me again?"

"Ulf!" Sigrun favoured him with a cautious smile. "Thank you. I was beginning to be afraid we'd have to leave."

She kept up a cool, detached facade, but Thorin could tell by her faint blush how agitated she was by meeting Ulf again. And he couldn't blame her. The young dwarf was quite impressive._ Yes, he's young,_ a tiny voice at the back of his mind supplied. _And he has known her forever. I wonder what exactly was going on between them._

Sigrun made no move to embrace or kiss Ulf, but gestured at Thorin instead. "This is Thorin Oakenshield, my fellow Warden. Thorin, this is Ulf, Lilja's brother. A very old friend."

"Among other things." Ulf winked at her as he grasped Thorin's hand. "I'll make sure the barkeep won't trouble either of you again. This is my turf, and he'd better not make me upset."

Thorin raised an eyebrow. The young dwarf was a little too arrogant for his taste. "You seem to have considerable influence in here."

Ulf grinned. "We pretty much run this place. Always have."

_'We' being the Carta. _Thorin had a hard time hiding his disapproval. How King Bhelen could allow these criminals so much leeway was a thing he couldn't fathom.

Sigrun nodded. "Who's in charge of things nowadays?"

"Well, you probably know Beraht is gone." Ulf chuckled mirthlessly. "A little while after you left Jarvia got rid of him. She did a good job of keeping things in check, but then your _Warden Commander_ came to Orzammar and messed everything up again."

Megan had told them about her run-in with the Carta leader, of course. Thorin couldn't imagine anyone being particularly sad about Jarvia's demise. Judging by Megan's description, the woman had been cold and calculating, going from seducing her former boss to killing him without any qualms.

Sigrun just shrugged, refusing to be baited. "Commander Cousland had her reasons."

Ulf sneered. "Yeah, well, after Jarvia's death things got pretty bad for a while. Lots of in-fighting, ugly stuff, no one to keep people on track. And then, a few months ago, Karshol suddenly showed up again. Apparently he'd been lying low, waiting for the storm to pass. They welcomed him back with open arms."

"So Karshol's the new top guy." Sigrun sighed. "I remember him. Clever bastard."

Ulf snorted his agreement, then glanced at Sigrun. "Will you come down and visit with us, _salroka_? There's many from the old crowd who'd be glad to meet you again. Unless Dust Town is beneath you now."

"Don't be stupid." Sigrun took a deep swig from her ale. "I'll be there. Tomorrow morning?"

He nodded. "Mother won't hear of leaving the old place, so you know where to find me." There was a brief, awkward silence before he looked at her intently again, his swagger briefly making room for a sincere smile. "To see you alive and well... We've missed you."

"It's been a long time." She nodded at him. "See you tomorrow."

When Ulf had left, the crowd respectfully making room for him as he made for the door, Thorin exhaled sharply. "What is this about? He's casteless too, isn't he? Why do they bow and scrape before him?"

Sigrun took a moment to answer. "Did you see the tattoo on his wrist?"

Thorin nodded. It had been eye-catching, a heavy dark chain running all the way around the young dwarf's forearm. "What does it mean?"

"He's a Carta enforcer." Sigrun's voice was a little shaky. "The Carta rules with fear, and the enforcers are the ones who make sure people feel the... consequences if they misbehave. It seems Ulf has gone up in the ranks quite a lot since I last saw him."

She didn't sound happy, and Thorin didn't ask. Things were turning out a lot more complicated than he had anticipated.

* * *

_Big hugs and thanks to heretherebdragons. And to all of you who are reading, faving, reviewing and following this. Thanks, guys!  
_


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